by King, Susan
He shook his head. "I prefer to listen."
She tipped her head and smiled, a certain way that often brought out a dimple in her left cheek. "I will teach you the words, if you do not know."
Odd and clear, the thought drifted through his head then that he would do anything to please this girl, to see that flashing smile for even the briefest moment. He knew the words; the song was one he had heard many times as a boy. Sighing, not quite believing that he did this so readily, he cleared his throat and joined in with the second verse. He could feel a hot flush stain his cheeks.
Kenneth was the first to turn around with a look of amazement. The flush on Duncan's cheeks grew stronger. Then Callum turned, and Magnus. The bright stain on his face burned like a small fire, and his voice dwindled away on the wind.
Ewan, riding in the lead with his back to the others, stopped singing and twisted in his saddle, frowning as if he were puzzled. "Did you hear a dog howling just then?" he asked.
Kenneth burst out laughing and said nothing. Callum and Magnus cleared their throats and looked away, snorting with muffled laughter.
"Just a high wind, Ewan," Elspeth said reassuringly. "Just a high wind."
The other cousins grinned and kept their silence. Ewan shrugged and turned back, resuming his song, his voice as rich and mellow as cream blended with uisge beatha, everything that Duncan's singing voice was not.
Duncan looked at Elspeth. She tilted her head at him, pinching her lips together in an expression of deep sympathy.
"I have a reason for listening rather than singing," he said, a little stiffly.
"You have," she agreed. "Well then. Perhaps if I spend some time with you, I can help."
He twisted his mouth wryly. "I doubt you can."
"If you can teach us to reive, I can teach you to sing," she said. "Call it a payment, Duncan Macrae." Her gray eyes sparkled and her hair shone bright in the sun. Suddenly Duncan thought that he had never seen anyone so fairy-like or so beautiful in his life. She smiled, and he felt as if he had been given his full payment.
He laughed, and she laughed too, bright and open and airy. He felt a small burst of joy, like a trickle of clear water over thirsty ground.
"Elspeth Fraser," he said, grinning and shaking his head, "you will have a task ahead of you, then." He turned to Kenneth. "Are you rested, man? And you, Callum?"
"Rested? Well enough. Why?" Kenneth asked.
Duncan smiled. "This would be a fine night for a long ride, I think."
Callum grinned, and Kenneth did too. Magnus turned. "A fine night to hunt the MacDonalds," he said.
"Perhaps so," Duncan agreed thoughtfully.
Chapter 14
`Haste Donald, Duncan, Dugald, Hugh!
Haste, take your sword and spier!
We'll gar these traytors rue the hour
That eer they ventured here.'
~"Bonny Baby Livingston"
Along the silvery track of the river through the deepest hour of the night, thirty riders followed the moonlight. Over rough moors and rocky slopes, through cold swift burns, they moved on, a silent part of the night and the wind.
Hardly a word had been uttered since the group of Frasers and Fraser kin had mounted their horses at the old yew tree, two hours and more ago. Elspeth glanced at Duncan, who rode beside her, seated tall and straight in his saddle, his plaid a dark swath in the night, his hair lifting like a black wing. He carried a long lance, its wicked point upright. She looked around. Several men carried lances, the steel points like a glittering forest behind her. Many of the riders, including Elspeth, had long bows slung over shoulders or saddles.
She drew in a breath and let it out, a little puff of frost that reminded her that the night air was chilly. But she felt warm from the heat of the ride and the heat of anticipation.
She could sense the cattle now, off to their left. She would have said something, but Duncan veered off in that direction without hesitation, as if he, too, sensed them. The riders followed him.
She smiled, thinking that he must have a touch of the Sight, for he rode with deliberateness, as if he too knew where to find the cattle, as if he listened to some inner voice. Though the scouts ahead had hearing as keen as the deer, and sight as sharp as a hawk's, Duncan had hardly consulted them. He seemed to know instinctively how fast, how far, in what direction to ride.
Earlier in the evening, he had asked Elspeth to stay at Glenran. If the MacDonalds discovered the raid, he had said, and found her part of it, she would be in particular danger. She had refused to stay.
"We are joined now, you and I," she had said. "I will not watch you ride away until the day that you must go to Edinburgh."
Looking at her with a hint of sadness, he had reached out to touch her hair. "Mo càran," he said, "my dear one. Come, then."
He glanced over at her now, and though he did not smile, she felt the caress of his gaze, the steady promise in his eyes. A promise to her, and to all of her cousins.
She had grown to adulthood always equal to her cousins. Now, looking at Duncan Macrae, she felt accepted as his equal as well, but with a depth she had never known before. Riding beside him, meeting his glance, she felt a sense of completion, precious and somehow necessary. She felt stronger, as if she had suddenly discovered another part of her soul, a force that was brave and steadfast. She knew that Duncan brought that to her.
She reached out to him, and he grasped her hand for a moment, then pulled away.
He rode forward alone to catch up to the others who rode far ahead of the group. Kenneth and another kinsman, Tomas, waited for Duncan in the sheltering slope of a hill. The two of them knew the terrain, could predict and recognize the rise and swell of every hill, the angle of every rock, the depth of each burn.
With gestures and low words, they consulted together. As Kenneth and Tomas rode off, Duncan turned to wave the others away from the silver band of the river.
Though Elspeth had ridden on several raids, she had never ridden like this. The riders swept through the night following Duncan's silent signals. Striking fast and clean, they rounded up fifteen cattle in one valley, five in another, ten more in the shelter between two high hills. No one challenged them; no one even saw them. They collected cattle and sheep like wildflowers in spring, finding a field of plenty in each new valley.
The garrons churned tough and steady through deep heather that muffled the sound of their passing. The bright moon was faintly obscured by mists, blurring the shapes of the riders. They rode on, gathering more animals as they went.
Arriving at the dooryard of a little homestead, they barred the door from the outside, then opened the pen and let out several sheep, leaving most of the flock behind. An old cow that lowed nervously in the yard was passed over, as were the goats. Duncan nodded as the group herded past him, then turned his horse to head still deeper into MacDonald territory.
Two riders entered the yard of another homestead to coax several more sheep out of a pen, herding them off to join the others, who waited beyond a hill. The sleeping inhabitants were undisturbed by the silent reivers.
In another small glen, they took a good portion of cattle from a large herd. Duncan glanced up at the sky, frowning at the increasing mist. He waved the riders toward home at last.
By the time they approached the marches of Fraser land, fog hung over the ground in soft, thick veils. Before dawn, they reached a wide but shallow stream, which had been simple enough to cross earlier. Now they found themselves challenged to keep the cattle and sheep moving steadily through the water.
Duncan tried in vain to deal with a particularly stubborn pair of sheep, who could not seem to follow the rest straight through the flowing water to the other side. Finally he leaped down from his saddle and scooped his arms around the fat ewe to drag her back upstream toward the flock.
Chuckling, Elspeth jumped down to help him. Wading through the cold water, she grabbed the other, a hefty lamb, by the scruff of the neck, and pulled him forcibly bac
k to the opposite bank. Grinning at her, Duncan leaped up onto the bank and reached out a hand to pull her up beside him.
"We are on Fraser land now," he told her in a low voice, "but the need for speed and silence is no less important." She nodded, and stepped aside to catch the reins of her horse, which one of her cousins had led to the bank.
"Come ahead to the loch," Duncan called softly. Elspeth mounted up and followed, as did her cousins, shepherding the flock and the lowing herd between them.
During the planning of the raid, Duncan had advised that the animals be herded into a secure hiding place for a few days. "If the MacDonalds come looking for their animals," he had told them, "no Fraser within miles will have an extra sheep or steer."
Hugh and Callum had suggested a wooded isle in the center of a small, remote loch not far from Castle Glenran. The lochan was well-hidden, tucked against the base of a broad hill and shielded by a thick pine forest. The cattle and sheep could be left there for days, for there was plenty of grass on the isle. The forest would discourage visitors, and would muffle the sound of the herd.
Another hour or so later, herding the animals with a grim perseverance born of stubbornness and pure exhaustion, they reached the loch. A submerged sandbar linked the shore to the isle. Washed over by water only a few inches deep, the access to the little isle was successfully concealed.
Elspeth soon discovered that guiding the animals along the narrow sandbar required enormous patience. Only two or three animals at a time, in long columns, could be led to the isle. The Frasers walked alongside to prevent strays from leaping out into the deeper water of the loch.
Swiping with one hand at the straggling hair falling over her brow, Elspeth walked knee-deep in bleating ewes, slogging through cold water that soaked her deerskin boots and the trews she wore under her plaid for added warmth. She stumbled once or twice as the soft-bodied animals nearly tripped her.
Thick mist from off the loch drifted over the sandbar and the isle. Dawn seemed to hang back, although the air was now a paler gray. Ahead, she could just see Magnus's blond head as he ushered a portion of the sheep onto the isle.
Nearby, shadowy in the mist, she saw Duncan, who escorted the last of the sheep to the place where the cattle had already been hidden. Although he had not shown the strain of the long night, the subtle droop of his head and shoulders told her that he was very tired.
The raid had been an enormous triumph, and she knew that the Frasers owed their thanks to Duncan Macrae. Soon the MacDonalds would return a raid; they would ride past the lochan with its little wooded isle, and would find none of their own animals on Fraser land. And the Frasers and all their kin would be on guard this time when the MacDonalds came.
She was certain that no MacDonald raid could equal what the Frasers had achived this night. Such fine reiving earned respect in the Highlands. The Frasers had good reason, now, to swell their chests with pride; they had humiliated and bested an enemy, and though all knew that the gesture might be returned in force, they could enjoy their triumph for now.
When the last of the sheep had been taken to the center of the isle, Elspeth breathed a deep sigh of relief and sat down on a rock by the shore. Thin waves lapped over the smooth brown stones at her feet. Looking around, she saw little beyond vague shapes in the fog.
Emerging from the drifting blur, a few of her cousins sat near her on the pebbled shore. Several of the others had already crossed the sandbar back to the mainland to stay with the horses. Magnus bent over to scoop handfuls of water to drink, and then splashed his face, his golden braids dipping into the water. Sighing and groaning, Kenneth and Callum dropped down on their knees to drink and wash as well.
Walking out of the mist, Duncan stood near her. "Go back to Glenran now, all of you," he said. "Send two men back here, fresh for the day, to watch the cattle. I will stay until they arrive."
"I will stay with you," Callum said, and Duncan nodded.
"And I will as well," Elspeth said.
He tilted a brow at her. "You are exhausted."
"No more than you or Callum. I will stay."
He sighed, and nodded. "As you wish."
The others left, walking back over the sandbar to mount their garrons. Elspeth could hear the soft, distorted sounds of their departure as her kinsmen left.
Bending forward, she scooped up some water to drink. Then she fumbled at the fastenings of her deerskin boots, laced up to the knee, and removed the boots. She dipped her toes in the water, easing her feet into the chill. After a moment she dried her feet with an end of her plaid.
"You should have gone back," Duncan said. She glanced up. He stood just behind her, fog swirling around him.
"I would not leave you now," she said.
"What did you say?" Callum asked.
"We should come away from the shore," Duncan said, turning away. He led them deeper into the isle, to an expanse of rocks and grass between two small knolls, the whole edged by pines and ringed by the water of the lochan. The cattle and sheep were grazing in this central, hilly area, their lowing and bleating muffled by fog and pines and water.
The three of them sat down on a hillock. Elspeth yawned and sat back while Duncan and Callum spoke quietly of the raid, and of their satisfaction with the evening's outcome. They discussed the number of animals taken, and Callum mentioned a few farmers whom he thought should be given some of the animals.
After a while, Callum yawned as loudly as Elspeth.
"Go to sleep, the two of you," Duncan said. "I can stay awake. But when I am back at Glenran, I may sleep for the rest of the week." Callum removed his plaid and stretched out in his long shirt. He wrapped the plaid over him like a blanket.
Duncan turned to Elspeth. "You as well," he said.
She yawned again, and undid the brooch at her shoulder, then unwound the length of her plaid until she sat in her long shirt and plaid trews.
She smoothed the cloth flat on the ground and covered herself with part of it. For the greatest warmth, she knew that she should layer heather sprigs inside the plaid and fold it double; but she was too tired to bother.
She glanced at Callum. Though only a few paces away, he was shrouded in mist. But his snores were loud enough to compete with the lowing of the cattle.
"Dhia," Duncan muttered. "The MacDonalds will be led straight to us." He reached out with his foot and shoved at Callum, who snorted and rolled over, quieter now.
Elspeth laughed. Duncan turned to look at her. "Rest now, mo càran," he said. "You have done a good night's work."
Duncan got up to stroll a few paces away, watching the herd. In the heavy, obscuring mists, Elspeth soon could not see him. She scrambled to her feet, glanced at sleeping Callum, and carried her plaid with her to find Duncan.
He sat on the slant of a knoll, knees drawn up, his face thoughtful. He glanced at her silently as she dropped down beside him and spread out her plaid. Reaching out a hand to him, touching his arm, she felt the feathery layer of dark hair, and the ripple of hard muscle beneath. He took her hand in his. A wash of feelings, lush and pleasant, flooded over her at the simple touch. Tugging a little on his hand, she wanted him to lay inside the cocoon with her.
"Rest, Duncan," she said. "We are safe here. No one can see or hear us from the mainland."
"I cannot rest," he said, letting go of her hand. Startled by his abrupt gesture, she frowned at him.
"What is it?" she asked.
"I must watch." He propped his arm on his upraised knee and looked away from her.
She sat up, suddenly unable to rest. Her plaid dropped away and the chilly mist penetrated her shirt, but she hardly noticed. She reached out and put a hand on his back, flexing her fingers to massage the taut muscle beneath his shirt. She knew how tired he was, and saw how seriously he took his responsibility to watch while she and Callum rested.
A shock, small lightning, went through her fingertips. She shuddered. When the vision came, sudden and vivid, it nearly rocked her over. Images f
lashed through her mind. Flattening her hand on Duncan's back, she placed her other hand on the earth for support.
"We cannot sleep. We cannot stay here," she said.
He looked at her, his brows lowered sharply. "What?"
"I—" She shook her head, confused. "I touched you, and then I saw a vision. A hand holding a raised dirk, and then another." She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting against a rising discomfort, like the ghost of a physical pain, and real, gut-centered anguish. "Red plaids, several of them, like some MacDonalds wear. Men moving through moonlight. Men in a battle, yet silent. There are no screams, but there is death—death all around you—"
"Stop." His voice was a hard-edged growl. "Stop this."
"Duncan," she whispered. "I saw you stabbed in the back. You will come to harm if we stay here. The MacDonalds—" She stood suddenly, grabbing at her plaid, hastily trying to wrap it around her again. "We have to leave—"
"Elspeth." He stood, swift and tall, to grab at her arms. "Stop." He shook her as she attempted to pull up her plaid. Her hands trembled. She was breathing too rapidly, but could not calm herself. The vision had terrified her.
"Elspeth. We are in no danger." He pulled her to him, hard and fast, holding her tightly, covering her head with his hand. She grabbed at him, pressing her face into his chest, hearing his rapid heartbeat. "Hush, girl."
"But I saw—"
"What you saw is in the past," he said, his voice low in her ear. "You saw something that happened years ago."
She raised her head. "What?"
"Men in moonlight, men in red plaids. Someone stabbing me in the back. It all happened, just as you described. But it happened many years ago." He was holding her so tightly that she could feel the tremor in his strong arms, could hear the ragged draw of his breath. "Somehow, when you touched my shirt just over the scar on my back, you saw what caused the wound."
"Duncan. What happened to you, then?" Her voice nearly broke over the words.
He stroked her hair slowly. "It was in the past," he said. "It is over. There is no need to speak of it."
