by King, Susan
Since dawn, they had been stalking a herd of deer, following them over hills and moors on quick silent feet. Her cousins and Duncan carried yew bows, with quivers slung over their backs. They had stopped often to watch and wait; hunting required a great deal of lying still in wet heather, and hours of tedious silence. Elspeth would rather roam the hills, watching the deer run freely along the moors, than stalk them for a kill.
She scanned the overcast sky. The day was damp; her plaid was wet, her knees were mucky, her braid was heavy with mist. She was cold, hungry, and impatient to be done with this.
Duncan spoke to Magnus, who nodded. Elspeth noticed how handsome Duncan was, admiring the black brows, the fringe of eyelashes. He spoke again, low, and she felt the sound within her body.
Enough of that, she thought, kicking at a snag of purple heather. This keen awareness of a man who should be riding back to his queen, was consuming her. Too often lately she found herself watching him, and many times she caught the quick flash of his blue eyes.
She wished he had never kissed her that night on the fairy hill. Even more, she wished he would do it again. She wanted to feel that dizzying, joyful lift of her soul with him. She sighed, watching him. He wore the green plaid Bethoc had given him, with a linen shirt beneath; he had borrowed wool knee-stockings and a pair of leather brogues. Much better, she thought, than wearing the raven's color. She could only admire all the fine, long length of him, his muscled legs and long back. His hair spread between his shoulders like a glossy black wing.
How like her cousins he was. How well he fit here. And what fascination could dry laws have, she wondered, to keep him away from the hills where he obviously belonged?
Magnus shouldered his bow. "If we do not chase the deer now, we may lose them."
Duncan looked up at the sky. "Rain hangs in those clouds, and if that happens, the deer will find cover. We should go now."
"Then I will fetch the ponies to carry the game," Magnus said, and loped off toward a copse of birches not far away, where two sturdy garrons were tethered.
While they were talking, Elspeth scanned the birch trees below, where the deer had run. She could sense them somewhere off to the left, but could not see them.
Duncan came to stand beside her, lifting a hand to shade his eyes. "Look there," he called to Kenneth. "The deer are just inside the wood, heading west."
"Come ahead," Kenneth said. "We will catch them now, I think. Elspeth, you wait here."
She looked at him in surprise. "But—"
"With the rain coming, we will either find game soon, or call off the hunt."
"Kenneth is right," Magnus told her, coming back with the horses. "Wait under those trees. We will be back soon."
She scowled, but Kenneth raised a finger and pointed at the stand of birches nearby. Knowing that she could listen or not, as she pleased, she did not want them to lose their quarry, for every moment counted. She shrugged and walked toward the trees.
Kenneth and Magnus stepped over the rise of the hill and began the downward climb toward the birchwood. Duncan began to follow, then turned to her. "Stay safe—the rain is coming. We will be back soon."
She scowled at him, too, for good measure, as he went with the others. They crossed a small burn and entered the wood, and soon she could no longer distinguish Duncan's plaid from the tangled screen of birch and alder and fern that filled the stretch of forest. Plucking a stem of heather, she twirled it in her fingers, waiting.
A strong breeze whipped past, and gray clouds gathered overhead. She ducked deeper into the birch copse and found a tiny burn, burbling over rocks. She scooped up a handful of cold water and drank. Sitting beneath some trees, she unwrapped a hunk of cheese that Flora had sent with her and ate. Then she glanced up at the sky, which was eerie now, the wind chilly.
To pass the time, she sang a little, her voice blending with the rise and fall of the wind. She closed her eyes and thought only of the warbling sweet tune.
Then she broke off the song and sat up. A prickle at the back of her neck told her that something had disturbed the peace of the birch copse. Looking around, she relaxed again, and told herself that she sensed only the threat of the storm. She hoped the men would return soon.
Resuming her song, she tapped out a rhythm on her knee.
"Lovely," a voice said. She turned her head. A man sat on a pony, silhouetted against the sky. Leaping to her feet, Elspeth reached for the little knife at her belt and slid it free.
"Elspeth Fraser," the man said, stepping the pony slowly toward her. "We must talk."
She angled the blade toward him. He stopped a few paces away and watched her, his eyes wary. A thick shock of reddish hair blew back from his forehead. His red plaid was oddly brilliant in the greenish light.
Her fingers flexed on the knife. "We have no words to share, Ruari MacDonald."
Thunder rumbled in the distance as Duncan and the Frasers left the wood. Kenneth had shot one of the hinds, and Duncan another. The animals were now slung over the backs of the two garrons, along with the bows and quivers.
"The quickest path back to Glenran is that way," Kenneth called to Duncan, pointing in an opposite direction.
The wind lifted the plaid at Duncan's shoulder, and blew his hair wildly. "You go on," he called over the wind. "I will get Elspeth." The Frasers nodded and moved off, leading the horses. Duncan began to climb back up the long hill toward the place where they had left Elspeth.
Narrowing his eyes, he looked up. An ominous cloudbank, heavy and dark, moved rapidly across the sky. He felt an uncomfortable prickly sensation, like dread, forming at the back of his neck. The threat of the coming storm must be making him anxious, he thought. Picking his way around the sharp angles of rocks, taking the slope with long steps, he hurried up, wanting to find the girl and get back to the castle as soon as possible.
Thunder pounded somewhere off to his left. He doubted, now, that they would reach the castle without a thorough soaking. He heard a raw screech and glanced up. Overhead, a raven cut past, its wide wings carrying it away from the storm.
Elspeth would not like that omen, he thought with wryly. Ravens made her anxious. He watched the bird before he went on. More thunder growled, and a crash of lightning struck somewhere, far behind him. The sky was now as dark as at twilight.
Reaching the top of the hill, he saw them almost immediately. A man in a red plaid sat a pony near Elspeth. Their backs were turned away from him. He wondered for an instant if she had found another of her cousins, part of the MacShimi's tail. If so, he would have to be careful to approach more politely this time.
Then, in one fast motion, the man slid from his horse and lunged at Elspeth. Grabbing her wrist, he twisted her savagely as they locked together in a struggle.
Duncan ducked his head down and ran, groping for his knife, pounding across the moor. His shoulder hit into the man's back with all the force of the thunder that slammed overhead.
He heard Elspeth cry out as they went down in a brutal tangle. Throwing one arm around the man's neck, he pressed the flat of his dirk to the man's chest and tightened his grasp. Rolling away to free Elspeth, who was caught underneath, Duncan threw his leg over the man's thigh and pinned him securely.
Trapped, the man cursed in a guttural, half-choked voice. Duncan did not relax his grip, but glanced at Elspeth, who crouched nearby, watching them with wide eyes.
"Who are you?" he gasped out. Rusty-colored hair and a red plaid were all that he had seen so far. "What do you want here?"
The man swore and struggled against him, but Duncan gripped hard around his neck and pressed the edge of the dirk against his throat. Although Duncan was the larger of the two, his opponent was compact and wiry.
"Say your name," Duncan rasped.
"Ruari MacDonald," the man spit out.
"Get up," Elspeth said, her voice quavering. "Please!"
Duncan got up, grabbing Ruari's arm to pull it behind as Ruari stood. With his free hand, Duncan pressed
the blade point to Ruari's throat.
"Why did you attack Elspeth? And may I tell you that I have recently sharpened my dirk," Duncan said.
"I only wanted to speak with her," Ruari said. He was shorter, and Duncan could easily see over the top of the red curls, and saw the man glare back at him. Elspeth, a few paces away, grasped a knife in her hand, her feet in a wide stance, and glared back at MacDonald.
"You have no cause to speak with her, and no cause to be on Fraser land. MacDonalds have lately been reiving here and harming Fraser kin. If I were a Fraser, your throat would be cut now." He pressed the blade closer. "Perhaps I should let Elspeth do that."
She took a step forward, eyes flashing silver fire. He almost feared she would do it.
Ruari flinched. "She is a damnable witch. But my uncle obtained her for my bride, and her brother made the promise good. Gordon has tried to withdraw it now, but the Frasers owe her to me. I saw her out here, and only tried to tell her that I am still willing to wed her."
"If you saw her here, then you were following her," Duncan said.
"If you say I am a witch, why do you want me for a wife?" Elspeth demanded.
Ruari laughed. Duncan saw the lust in those flat brown eyes, in the curl of his lip, heard it in the hoarse rasp of the man's breath. He knew why Ruari wanted her. The knowledge sent a twist of rage through his gut. He squeezed the hilt of the dirk in an effort to keep it still.
"The crown says we must cease fighting with Clan Fraser," Ruari said. "My uncle wants this marriage made." He stared at her, breathing hard. "I need a wife. Once you are away from the evil influence of that old clubfooted witch, you will not practice witchcraft. Tell the MacShimi that I will still take you to wife."
Elspeth stepped toward them. "Let him go," she said to Duncan.
He frowned at her. "Elspeth—"
"Let him go."
He released Ruari's arm, but kept the dirk ready. He waited, watching Elspeth.
She stared at Ruari, who stood only a little taller than she did. Thunder rumbled and leaves rustled in the cold, fast wind. "If you should visit Bethoc MacGruer again," she said, "you will learn what witchery can do." She slapped his face then. "That is owed to you for Bethoc. Now get on your horse and be gone from here. I lay a damnadh on you, Ruari. You will not touch me or my kin unless you wish to bring harm to yourself."
Ruari tried to turn on Duncan, who pressed the dirk against his back.
"Nor will you harm this man," Elspeth said, her voice clear and hard. "He is Duncan Macrae, the queen's own lawyer. You must honor this man's authority."
"Macrae!" The word was a snarl. Flaring his nostrils, Ruari slid a glare at him, and spat. Duncan watched him steadily, quelling the bitter anger that rose in him. He gave support to Elspeth's warning by his unwavering gaze and the pressure of his dirk point.
With a powerful wrench, Ruari burst away from Duncan, and began to run. When Duncan leaped forward to pursue him, Elspeth leaped too, pulling hard at Duncan's arm.
"Let him go!" she said. Duncan looked at her with surprise.
Reaching his pony, Ruari vaulted up, lifted the reins and rode out onto the moor. A sudden explosion of thunder ripped through the tree cover.
Elspeth looked up at Duncan silently, breathing fast.
"Dhia," he muttered, shoving his fingers through his hair. "We would be safer if the man were dead, girl."
"I wanted you to do it," she said, "but I was afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"If you killed him, you might seal your own fate. He is John MacDonald's nephew, and you are the queen's lieutenant in the eastern Highlands. You could be brought to trial."
He sighed, knowing the truth of it. Seeing that she trembled, he wrapped his fingers around her arm to steady her. "Cease your fretting," he said. "No harm will come to me." Thunder rose, wild and loud, and the wind tore at their hair. He looked up. "A bolt of lightning is a much more serious threat now. We need to find some shelter."
Nodding, Elspeth grabbed his hand. "Come this way."
She yanked on his arm and they began to run through the birches and down a little hill. In the distance, a stiff thread of lightning spooled to the ground. The first drops of rain began to splash, fat and cold.
"This way!" she shouted over the storm.
Chapter 12
`I'll grow into your arms two
Like iron in hot fire;
But hold me fast, let me not go,
Then you'll have your desire.'
~Tam Lin"
Thunder rolled through the sky and lightning struck the moor behind them with a frightening crash. Within moments, they were running through a soaking, pounding rain. Seeing a little thatched-roof hut between some trees, Duncan headed there, pulling her with him.
The door swung open easily, and he yanked her inside, slamming the door shut. Leaning against it, breathing hard, only then did he look around to see who stood there, no doubt surprised by their sudden entrance.
"No one lives here," Elspeth said, breathing fast. "This is a shieling hut, used by the herders during the summer pasturing." She wiped at her wet face with the palm of her hand, pushing at the tangle of hair that had slipped out of her braid. "We can make a fire. There will be blankets here, too."
Nodding, Duncan continued to lean against the door, feeling wind gusts batter against it, and looked around the hut. A small window admitted stormy light into the dank room; a stone hearth lay in the middle of the floor, cold and empty.
A flash of lightning illuminated the room. Elspeth walked over to a wooden chest, opened it, and took out folded plaids. A blast of rain swept in the little window. Duncan could feel the cold spray from where he stood.
Elspeth went to the window and closed the shutter, fastening it with a leather loop. In the sudden darkness, cracks in the door and window emitted thin light.
With her back turned, Elspeth unwrapped her long plaid. In the dimness, her linen shirt was a pale blur, her bare legs a slender, graceful gleam. She drew a blanket over her shoulders and tossed the other toward him, then draped her plaid over the table to dry.
"Your plaid is wet," she said. "Use the other blanket." He moved away from the door and took off his belt, then unwrapped his plaid and removed his boots, to stand in his long shirt. He draped the old blanket, which smelled pungent and musty, over his shoulders, and hung his wet plaid over the table beside hers.
Elspeth sat by the cold hearth, holding two sticks in her hands. Setting one upright against the other, she began to twirl the vertical stick. After several attempts, she emitted a little cry of frustration.
"Let me," Duncan said. Slipping his dirk from its sheath, he went over to kneel beside her. He felt the chill in her small fingers as she handed the sticks to him.
His father had taught him how to make a need-fire when he had been a child. With the dirk, he sliced at one stick, sharpening the end. Then he set the point into a depression cut in the other stick, and rolled the upright stick patiently between his palms.
Soon he smelled a wisp of smoke. A flame jumped up, a tiny golden light in the dark. With a little tug at his heart, he remembered the wide grin of approval his father would give him whenever Duncan had managed to start the fire.
He glanced at her, and she smiled. The faint gold light revealed the elusive dimple in her cheek. "There are peat blocks in the back corner," she said, and went to fetch them, stacking them inside the stone circle. Adding the flame, Duncan nurtured it, blowing, waiting. The glow caught and spread into the dry peat with a crackle and a waft of musty sweetness. Smoke stung his eyes as it drifted upward towards an opening in the roof.
Duncan sat beside Elspeth, and held his hands out to the growing heat. They listened to the moaning wind and the steady patter of rain on the thatched roof. She jumped slightly at a loud burst of thunder, followed by a close crack of lightning.
"The storm will not last," he said.
"I wonder if my cousins found shelter," she said, as another growl o
f thunder rolled past.
"They might have made it back to Glenran before the storm. Ruari, though, was surely caught by this."
She nodded. The low firelight threw a web of amber patterns across the smooth skin of her cheeks, and lent a golden sparkle to the curls that framed her brow.
"You showed courage to face him as you did," he said.
"I was angry," she said. "And I knew that you would never let him harm me."
"Why did you strike him for Bethoc?" he asked.
She looked down. "He hurt her, once," she said softly.
He nodded. "You gave him a cut and a damning. He ran from you, not from me," he said, and lifted a brow at her.
She slid him a quick look, her clear gray eyes reflecting flame. "I saw how easily you could have cut his throat. But you held back, though your blade shook with it. I thought long-robes were raised in libraries and fed on ink and paper. But you know hunting and raiding, and how to take a man to the ground and hold him there."
He twitched back a smile. "This long-robe has seen more than libraries and trial rooms. I have lived on both sides of the law. And with both Scots."
She tilted her head. "What do you mean, both Scots?"
"In the Lowlands, the Highlanders are called wild Scots. And they call Lowlanders the housekeeping Scots."
"Are you?"
"Am I what?" He relaxed back on his side, reclining on an elbow, sliding his bare feet toward the heat of the hearth.
"Are you a housekeeping Scot?"
"I have rooms in Edinburgh, and a woman to keep them."
She lowered her eyes away from him. "Ah. I see."
He grinned, knowing she did not see, and delighted that she was bothered by it at all. "The woman who keeps my house is at least a hundred years old, and related to my mother's family. Did you think I was married?"
She shrugged. He saw her cheeks ripen in the amber light.
"Could you not tell that with your Sight?"
