The Raven's Wish

by King, Susan

  Not so easy, then, for a Fraser to ask a Macrae to leave. Between the generous nature of Highland hospitality, and the friendship between Macraes and Frasers, the lawyer could stay at Glenran indefinitely. But she knew he must leave soon.

  "What did you see at the stream?" Flora asked.

  Elspeth looked up. Flora's height and large build were deceptive: although she gave the impression of power, and had a fierce temper, Flora could be a soothing companion.

  "Clearly it upset you. Tell me what you saw."

  Elspeth closed her eyes. The memory of the two visions remained clear—first the pair of ravens overhead, then the man on the hill. And later, she had seen the ravens again, just as the lawyer had moved toward her in the stream.

  And then she had seen him, the lawyer: unshaven, exhausted, his shirt pulled away from his neck, a cloth over his eyes. She gasped to see it again. "Ravens," she told Flora. "I saw ravens. The lawyer's life is in danger unless he leaves the Highlands."

  "Why do you say so?" Flora sat beside her.

  "I saw him with a cloth bound about his eyes. I saw a wooden block."

  "By the cross," Flora murmured. "You saw a heading block?"

  Elspeth nodded. There was more, but she would not say it aloud. She bowed her head, and her hair swung down, a copper-tinted cloud. Tears stung her eyes. She had also seen herself standing with this Duncan Macrae, just as if she had looked into a mirror.

  And she had known with a stunning certainty that her fate was tied to his. And she feared greatly that if she might bring Duncan Macrae to the heading block—how, when, why, she could not say. But she was that determined to warn the lawyer to return to the Lowlands. He might die on the block if he stayed here with the Frasers, with her.

  Your death will be mine, she had whispered to him. She did not understand her own words. Standing in the stream with his hand in hers, she had felt fear, passion, and deep regret. She let the tears fall, silent and soft, into her hands.

  "You cannot change what you have seen. If the man is to die on the block, that is between him and his queen and his God," Flora said. "It is not your doing."

  "I am cursed," she whispered. "Why do I see these things? I have no wish to see anyone's death. I did not want to see my aunt's death, or my uncle's, either. I did not want to know that Magnus's wife would soon die." She pressed her eyes shut against more tears.

  Flora touched her hand. "The Sight is a gift from God. You see joyful things as well. You have seen marriages to come, and births. You have told others of happy things in their lives."

  Elspeth wiped at her cheeks. "But why deaths? A warning would not have saved any of them, so far, that I have foreseen."

  "Heaven arranges fate. Seers only glimpse it." Flora stroked Elspeth's hair gently. "I have no wisdom for you, my little bird," she said. "Only God knows why you were given the Sight."

  "What is this lawyer Macrae to us? Only a visitor to the MacShimi. Yet I saw his death. I will warn him without telling him about the death. It is all I can do for him."

  "Hush you," Flora said. "I would help you if I could. Hush, now."

  * * *

  "A bond of caution! May as well be iron fetters," the MacShimi said. He leaned back in his chair. Torchlight flickered over his stubborn frown. "We will not sign this promise."

  The MacShimi, Duncan thought ruefully, seemed the youngest of all the Fraser cousins. Barely eighteen, a handsome, lanky lad with dark hair and hazel eyes, his chin was sparsely whiskered. Hugh Fraser, laird of Lovat Castle and chief of all the Frasers, had been born the last of the legendary crop of Blar-na-Léine babes.

  Duncan silently cursed the assignment he had been given. The Privy Council had not mentioned—perhaps they did not know—that the Fraser chief and most of his bodyguard were young and disposed to argue. Originally he had planned to present the letter, collect the signatures, and depart. But he had a feeling that he might be at Glenran for a long time waiting for a few signatures.

  He sighed and glanced out one of the small windows that pierced the thick walls of the great hall. The sky, which held summer light in the Highlands until very late, was growing dark. He was tired, and it had been a very long day.

  At supper he had felt as old as Zeus in the company of the Fraser cousins; but for Alasdair, he was the oldest male here. Castle Glenran was like some odd Highland nursery, he mused wryly, a haven for lads—and one girl who acted like a lad. Alasdair had mentioned to him that Lachlann Fraser had fostered all of these orphans, and more, under his own roof.

  "The bond is a promise between your clan and the crown," Duncan said carefully. His usual patience was wearing thin after a long discussion. At least the young chief could speak Scots English, making conversation quicker for him, for his Gaelic was not what it once was.

  "Your signature is your promise to cease feuding for one year," he said, holding the document, written on stiff new paper in his own precise legal hand. A copy for the Fraser chief to keep, which also required signatures, lay on the table. "There is a fine of seven thousand marks if you break the bond. Since I am named the cautioner, and the human pledge for this agreement, I will be held responsible if the bond is not honored."

  "If we do not sign, then you will not be held responsible for us." Restlessly, Hugh Fraser turned to address Glenran, his cousin Callum. "Where is Elspeth?"

  "Flora went to fetch her," Callum replied quietly.

  "Duncan takes a risk if he is the pledge for us," Alasdair said. "He can be charged with treason if the bond is broken. But as a Macrae, he trusts the Frasers to protect his welfare."

  "Your signature and those of your advisors are required," Duncan said. "They are—?"

  The Fraser chief sat straighter. "My Glenran cousins form part of my personal bodyguard, and as such they are my closest advisors. You have met Callum, Magnus, Kenneth, Ewan, and Elspeth. There are several others at Lovat Castle now."

  "Your advisors here will do. Their signatures, and yours, will seal the promise."

  "And that promise is to cease fighting with the MacDonalds."

  "The queen and her council expect just that," Duncan replied.

  "And do they expect us to do nothing while the MacDonalds reive our cattle and our sheep?" The MacShimi frowned. "If we sign that bond, what then when the MacDonalds ride in and take all we have, knowing we dare not fight back? I will not put my clan in that position, Macrae." His eyes were filled with concern. Duncan realized that, despite the chief's youth, the MacShimi took his responsibilities quite seriously.

  "The MacDonalds will receive a similar letter," Duncan said. "The Campbells are the royal lieutenants in the western Highlands. They will negotiate with the MacDonald chief."

  The MacShimi gave a half-laugh. "I would like to see that! The Campbells have been feuding with the MacDonalds longer than the Frasers have. Well, then. When the MacDonalds sign their bond, we will sign ours. And not before."

  Duncan sighed and rubbed his temples, aware of a dull headache. Reaching for a pewter jug, he poured foamy ale into a cup, and tried, as he sipped, to hold his temper. He had been in this room with the MacShimi, Alasdair, and Callum Fraser ever since dinner. Even when the meal was cleared away, the four of them had stayed to discuss the letter of caution.

  Setting down his drink, he glanced around the long hall. Rushlights flickered over the high stone walls, and a tall iron basket, anchored in the center of the stone floor, held glowing peat bricks; these gave off little light, but sent out good heat, smoky tendrils, and a musty, comforting odor. Two large fireplaces in the room were not in use, as it was summer.

  Bronze-studded targ shields and a few swords and axes hung on the walls, fierce ornamentation in the large hall, where the furniture was solid and plain. Yet the effect did not indicate lack—rather, the room's straightforward simplicity spoke of strength and pride.

  The long oaken table held jugs of ale, cups, and two bladder flasks, which had been passed freely hand to hand all through dinner. The uisge beatha, t
he Highland water of life that the Lowlanders called whisky, had poured out like liquid amber in plenty.

  And Duncan's head was spinning from the drams he had consumed. He had not had true Highland uisge beatha for a long time. So he had switched to the pale heather ale, grateful its kick had been watered.

  Nearby, Alasdair stood, arms folded, his usual toothy grin replaced by a frown, and beside him, Callum Fraser sat in a carved chair, holding a pewter cup that he waved as if it were a bell, waiting while the issue was resolved.

  Tugging in idle habit at the small gold hoop in his left earlobe, Duncan was about to suggest another angle in the discussion when the door in the long wall opened—and Elspeth stepped into the room. She crossed the rush-covered floor in bare feet, her plaid swinging gently.

  "Girl, there you are," Callum said. "This is Duncan Macrae. He is the queen's own lieutenant."

  She nodded curtly to him, then smiled and greeted her cousins softly. Sitting at the far end of the same bench that Duncan occupied, she pointedly ignored him. Alasdair leaned toward her to explain the letter of caution.

  Watching them, Duncan sipped again, an elbow on the table, feeling oddly comfortable here, a result of the liquor and ale he had downed, and something else he could not define. As he waited while Alasdair spoke, he studied the girl.

  She listened, never once glancing in his direction, although his name was mentioned. Yet he focused wholly on her now. Earlier he had wondered about the strange incident at the stream, dismissing it at dinner, having other matters on his mind. The girl had not entered his mind.

  But now he studied her as she tilted her head; he admired the red-gold sheen of her hair, and saw her cheeks pinken, her glance flicker. She was aware of his gaze. And he recalled the vulnerable, frightened look in those gray eyes when she had looked toward him in the stream.

  And he recalled the words she had whispered to him: Your death will be mine. A tiny chill spiraled up his neck at the memory. What had she meant?

  Like any Highlander, Duncan knew about seers. There had been one near Dulsie Castle when he was a boy, an old crone who had prattled her predictions to anyone who would listen to her. That woman had warned him not to ride after the MacDonalds, and he had not listened. Anyone could have seen that outcome, but at the time he had been too young and hot-tempered to see it himself. He was convinced that seers and prophecies had no power.

  But Elspeth's cousins certainly believed that she had some true ability. His own strong reaction had been influenced by those around him. Scientific studies had lately proven that the brain was a remarkable storehouse for sensations and knowledge. As a lawyer, he knew that seers were complete nonsense, yet many believed.

  As for the irresistible urge he had felt to touch the girl's hand at the stream—well, she ahd an appealing beauty, and he must have been caught by some sudden masculine impulse. It would not happen again. If a pretty lass was part of the MacShimi's bodyguard, Duncan would collect her signature with the rest, and think no more of it.

  Still, he was curious what the girl thought she had seen when she had looked at him in the streambed. She did not seem a fraud—she had an ingenuous quality. Perhaps, he thought with dismay, she was a little mad. Certainly she dressed and behaved out of the ordinary, though her feminity was more than obvious—and he was aware of his strong physical attraction to her. Sitting up straighter, he realized he was more than a little drunk.

  Elspeth turned then and looked directly at him. He felt an odd sensation, like falling from a great height. And then he frowned, for he was not accustomed to confusion.

  "Hugh," Alasdair said, "this bond of caution will be a good thing for our clan."

  "This action from the crown would bind our hands so that we cannot defend ourselves," Hugh Fraser answered.

  "If you refuse the bond of caution, worse will follow from the crown. Tell him, Duncan."

  "Aye," Duncan agreed. "A letter of fire and sword will follow if you refuse to sign, or sign and do not honor this. Your clan will be outlawed, your homes forfeit and destroyed, your warriors banished or executed."

  "And who," the Fraser asked softly, "would carry out such orders? The crown has no army, and not enough coin to waste on hiring soldiers to come up here and rout us out. It would take years to accomplish it. Highlandmen cannot easily be found in these mountains and glens unless they want to be seen. Fire and sword may work in the Lowlands and the Borders, but it is not useful here in the high hills."

  "The MacShimi has a point," Callum said quickly.

  "There is another way to stop the MacDonalds from raiding on our land," Hugh said.

  "What is that?" Duncan asked.

  "Indeed, say what you mean, cousin," Elspeth said. Even Duncan felt the chill in her tone.

  "The MacDonald chief has offered to ease the feud with a marriage," Hugh said. "He wants a union between Elspeth and his nephew, Ruari."

  Duncan frowned slightly. "It is a sound solution," he said. The girl's gaze went stormy. "Marriage ties are, in essence, family ties, and clansmen avoid feuding with family. Until you sign the bond, this could suffice."

  "Suffice!" Elspeth snapped, standing, glaring at him. Then she looked at Hugh. "Have you given the MacDonalds my answer?"

  "Not yet," Hugh said. "I was going to refuse, but now that we have this letter of caution, I am thinking that this marriage would indeed ease the feud the fastest."

  "So you would have me marry into the MacDonald clan to save you from signing a bit of paper?" she accused, waving an arm about in her anger.

  "Elspeth—" Hugh began.

  "I will not do this, as I have said. I care about the clan too, but will not be sacrificed to it in this way."

  "Elspeth!" Hugh and Callum said together.

  "And you, sir!" She swung to face Duncan, her chest heaving beneath the shirt and the diagonal swath of her plaid. "You come here with a document that dooms our clan, and then say this marriage is a good thing?" Her voice rose indignantly. "If you are wise, Long-robe, you will get on your fine horse and be gone from here—before you meet your own doom!"

  Stepping around the bench, she walked to the door. Duncan and her kinsmen were left staring, mouths slightly open in surprise, and then they looked at one another.

  Alasdair cleared his throat. "I do not think she will marry this Ruari MacDonald."

  Chapter 4

  So slowly, slowly she came up

  And slowly she came nye him

  And all she sayd, when there she came

  'Young man, I think y'are dying.'

  ~Barbara Allen's Cruelty

  Elspeth steadily climbed the curving staircase past the bedchamber levels until she reached the roof. Pulling open the door, she burst outside and moved along the wall walk, skimming her hand over the stone, welcoming the wind in her hair. The tumult of emotion within began to lessen. She sighed, looking up, where the stars were like diamond slivers on black velvet.

  Down in the great hall, the queen's lawyer sat with her kinsmen. He should have withheld his opinion on her marriage, but his directness had gone beyond the polite veneer of new acquaintance. A hot blush stained her cheeks and the rhythm of her heart quickened as she remembered the way he looked at her, as if he knew her well.

  Tall and broad-shouldered even beside the brawny Fraser cousins, he was a handsome man indeed, more mature than her cousins, with lean, precise features and a firm, clean jaw. Dark hair brushed his shoulders, and his eyes were an intense blue, as piercing in firelight as in they had been in daylight. But behind his eyes she sensed a shadow, a depth of feeling and private hurt. In that, he reminded her of her cousin Magnus.

  She leaned against gritty stone, feeling the inexplicable yearning that had been with her earlier—an urge to see this Macrae again, to hear his voice, feel his hand on hers. And though she was still annoyed that he had spoken up about her marriage to Ruari, she had never known such a pull to anyone. His presence in the hall below pulled at her.

  But he should be not
hing to her, she reminded herself.

  She tried to convince herself that the Sight, for the first time in her life, was wrong. How could she cause anyone to come to the heading block? Such deaths were often political.

  Shivering in the chill, she went back down into the castle, her footsteps quick and sure on the stairs, echoing her new decision. Once all was quiet for the night, she would warn Duncan Macrae to leave the Highlands. If he knew he was in danger, he would listen.

  No wise person ever ignored the warning of a taibhsear.

  * * *

  Strong drink and travel fatigue plunged Duncan into a dreamless sleep. The soft sound that woke him brought him to a groggy, sudden awareness. Blinking in the dark, propping an elbow on the feather mattress, he pulled aside the bedcurtain.

  Thick stone walls and the solid oak door muffled outside noises, and so he heard only the crackle of the peat fire in the hearth. Otherwise, this tiny bedchamber that was his for the nonce was silent. Perhaps the room was infested with mice or ghosts. What else, he wondered, would be about at this late hour. His eyes scanned the shadows, seeing nothing worrisome.

  Letting out a slow breath, he relaxed against the pillows, and rolled to his side to welcome a quick slide back into warm sleep.

  A light touch brushed his head and bare shoulder. The gentle caress drifted away.

  "Who's there?" he whispered, opening his eyes to darkness.

  One of the shadows moved, and Duncan saw a glint of golden red. He sat up and reached for the dirk he had placed beneath the pillow earlier—but it was not there. He slid his legs over the side of the bed, gripping the curtain, focusing his eyes in the darkness.

  "I have your dirk," a soft voice said in Gaelic. "Stay where you are."

  "God's bones," he muttered, relieved. "I thought you were some awful haunt."

  He saw the outline of her body swathed in plaid; noted the golden curve of her face, the glint of her bright hair. She waved his own dirk; he saw the gleam of its pearl handle.