The Raven's Wish

by King, Susan

  She had asked for the sea, all gold and silver. Looking around the room, he remembered the dream, and had an idea.

  * * *

  The quill scratched slowly across the paper, spitting ink as Hugh wrote out his name, drawing each letter carefully. Duncan waited, as he had for each of the cousins to add their names to the document. When the Fraser chief was done, he slid the page toward Duncan, who sanded the ink, and then signed his own name beneath Elspeth's signature.

  "That is done, then," Hugh said. "And your answer to my cousin?"

  Duncan heaved a deep sigh. He looked around the great hall, where all the Frasers, including Flora, had gathered to witness the signing of the document. Now they waited to hear how he would solve Elspeth's challenge.

  Afternoon sunlight poured down in pale transparent wedges through the arrowslit windows along the upper wall. Silence filled the high-ceilinged space.

  "Are you ready to answer her?" Hugh asked.

  Duncan looked at Elspeth. Her eyes were huge in her pale face, her mouth partly open. His heart beat strong and hard beneath his shirt. Looking at her now, so pure and beautiful, so much what he wanted, he remembered last night's vivid dream. He tightened his fist to keep from reaching out to her.

  She shook her head slowly. He realized that she was asking him not to answer the riddle. He looked away.

  Before dawn, he had dressed and left the castle. Wandering over moors and hills on foot, he had walked for miles as he examined the all possibilities in his mind. After an hour or so, the solution had become clear to him.

  "I am ready," he told Hugh. Then he walked to the aumbry cupboard built into the wall. Earlier he had asked Flora to leave some things there for him.

  Reaching into the cupboard, he lifted out a wide wooden bowl, which he had previously lined with gold and silver coins. He placed the bowl on the table where all could see it. Elspeth frowned. Her cousins watched him silently.

  Turning back, he took out a jug of ale and a bowl of salt.

  He poured the ale into the bowl, quickly enough that it foamed as it sloshed over the gold and silver coins. Then he added a few pinches of salt.

  Lifting the heavy bowl, he carried it the length of the table. "Hold out your hands," he said.

  "What is this?" she asked in a hollow, thin voice.

  He set the bowl in her hands. "An entire sea," he said, "placed in your hands. Brine, all foam and spray"—he leaned forward and blew a little at her, gently—"with a bottom of gold and silver."

  "Oh." She stared at it.

  "You did not say how large it should be," he said.

  "Oh," she said again, her voice a mere breath. She set the bowl on the table, still staring into it.

  Behind him, the Frasers murmured among themselves. Someone laughed outright. Duncan looked only at Elspeth.

  He saw her swallow, and for one wild moment, he felt the fear in her. Although she was apprehensive, he could not regret what he had done, nor where it would lead.

  Then her wide, rainwater eyes turned upward. Her gaze was touched with dread. She was silent, her lower lip trembling, her breath quick. She flattened her slender hands against the table.

  Duncan bent forward to speak to her over the happy din of the cousins just behind him, who were laughing and clapping one another on backs and shoulders.

  "We are caught, mo càran," he murmured. "Like fish in the sea, we are caught."

  She blinked and nodded. Then her eyes shifted to a point just beyond his shoulder.

  "Duncan Macrae." Behind him, a voice cut through the clamor in the hall, flat and grim. Duncan straightened and turned.

  Robert Gordon stood framed in the open door, his black outercloak sparkling with rain. Elspeth rose from her seat, and the cousins quieted as they, too, turned to look.

  "The Privy Council has sent me after that bond of caution. The Earl of Moray wants to know if the thing has been signed." Robert walked across the room, stripping off his gloves. He flung them down on the table. "If not, they have asked me to see that it is done. Now."

  Duncan frowned, his quiet displeasure mirroring the expressions of the Frasers who gathered around him. He folded his arms and leaned against the edge of the table.

  "Robert," he said. "Greetings. And how is it that the Council sends you after the bond of caution?"

  Robert swept off the dark bonnet that hid his coppery hair, and shoved his dampened cloak back over his shoulders. "I lately had business in the royal courts," he said. "While I was in Edinburgh, I met with Maitland, the secretary of the Council. When he learned that I had been here, he asked how you fared with the Frasers and the bond of caution. I let him know how much difficulty you were having. Maitland reported to the Earl of Moray, and I was told to ride here and see to the signing of the bond myself. Now."

  Robert grabbed up an empty cup from the table and thrust it toward Elspeth. "Ale, girl," he said. She snatched it from his hand and poured ale into it from a jug, then handed the cup back to him, sloshing some of its contents over his hand. Wiping his hand on the front of his doublet, he slid a dark glance toward her. Drinking the ale swiftly, he set the cup down. "Fetch the document," he said to Elspeth.

  She opened her mouth to answer, an indignant glint in her eye. Duncan touched her arm and gave her a warning glance, silent and keen.

  "Show me the Council's writ of order," Duncan said.

  Robert shrugged. "They directed me to see to the completion of the document."

  "If so, then you will have it in writing, and you will not have been so foolish as to leave it behind. Give it to me."

  Robert sighed, almost a growl, and unfastened a few of the loops on his doublet to slide his hand inside, withdrawing a folded piece of paper.

  Duncan took the paper and scanned the text. A muscle jumped rapidly in his cheek. He drew a slow breath to master the anger that rose up in him at Robert Gordon's arrogant assumption of superiority. The paper was no formal writ from the Council; it was not even directed to Robert.

  "This letter is from Moray to me," Duncan said. "The Council wants the bond signed and delivered back to them as soon as possible. There is nothing here that surprises me." He put the letter inside the plaid draped across his chest. "But I thank you, Robert, for acting as the messenger for the Council. I will see to the matter, as I have intended all along."

  Robert glared at him. "Other Council members suggested to me that I see to the signing of the thing myself and bring it back immediately. That is not in writing, for it was a confidence between us."

  "Perhaps," Duncan drawled. "As it happens, the bond has been signed already. I will deliver it to the Council as soon as your sister is ready to travel to Edinburgh."

  "Edinburgh!" Elspeth gaped at him.

  "Why should Elspeth go to Edinburgh with you?" Robert asked.

  "We are to be married there."

  "We what!" Elspeth stepped forward. Duncan slid a look at her, casual and unruffled, and looked back at Robert.

  "Married!" Robert turned, his swirling cloak spitting raindrops. "Hugh Fraser, is this true?"

  Hugh folded his arms over his chest and nodded. "The queen's lawyer has agreed to wed Elspeth."

  "I will not go to Edinburgh!" she said.

  "Why should she wed Macrae?" Robert asked Hugh. "There is no advantage to that for any of us—"

  "We are not thinking of our advantage," Hugh said, his voice cold and hard. "We are concerned for Elspeth. She will be safest with the lawyer in the Lowlands."

  "I will marry her in Edinburgh," Duncan said. "Whoever would attend our wedding may ride with us to Edinburgh tomorrow."

  Two swift steps, and Elspeth stood before Duncan. He lifted an eyebrow and watched her narrowed eyes, slivers the color of storm clouds.

  "I will not leave my clan or my home for the Lowlands." She drew a long breath and winged her eyes away from his. "I will not wed you, lawyer," she said.

  "We want you safe from Ruari MacDonald," he said quietly.

  She shoo
k her head. "Safe for me may be the blackest danger for you." She turned to Hugh. "I will not do this."

  "Elspeth, this wedding will take place," Hugh said. "For your good."

  "This cannot happen," she said. Her eyes lifted again to Duncan. "I did not think you would answer the riddle so soon," she said. "I hoped that you would have to return to Edinburgh without solving it."

  "I know," he said. "But I had to answer your riddle." His glance held hers, steady and deep. "I had to."

  "Solve this, then," she murmured. Her breath was fast and high, as if she had been running. "I will not wed you in the Highlands or the Lowlands." She spun then, her braid whipping over her shoulder, and walked out through the open door.

  Duncan sighed and glanced at Hugh.

  Hugh half smiled. "Ah," he said. "I think I know the answer to that one."

  Chapter 16

  No time they gave her to be dressed

  As ladies when they're brides, O,

  But hurried her away in hates;

  They towed her in their plaids, O!

  ~"Rob Roy"

  Only a murmur against wood, the knock was enough to rouse Duncan from Sleep. He sat up, pulling on his trews and then crossing the room toward the hidden, shadowed door.

  "Duncan," sounded a low voice. "Open up, man!"

  He eased the door open to admit Callum and Ewan, the hilts of their swords gleaming in the firelight. Duncan frowned, wondering what brought them here and alert.

  Or were they alert? He narrowed his eyes, noticing a suspicious bobble when Ewan moved. The lad had imbibed a good bit of the water of life, Duncan surmised, but not enough to sink him entirely.

  "Come with us, man, outside." Ewan tugged at his sleeve.

  "Is it the MacDonalds?" Duncan turned back to grab his shirt and plaid, dressing quickly.

  "Hurry," Ewan replied. "We are gathering in the yard."

  "There must be no raiding, and you well know it," Duncan reminded them. He belted his plaid, pulled on his boots, took up his dirk in its sheath. "So what is this?"

  Callum stepped closer. "No raid, but a wedding," he said. "We like you well, man, and we are sorry."

  "Sorry for what?" Then Duncan felt something hard strike the side of his head. His knees buckled as the floor came up to meet him.

  "For that," he heard Callum say.

  * * *

  "Elspeth! Open up, girl."

  Stumbling from the bed, sleep-numb and wondering if Duncan waited for her, Elspeth hurried to the little door in the wall, which she had left unlatched, hoping he might use the secret stair this night.

  She wanted to talk with him about the riddle, about Robert and the bond, and about this question of marriage. More than that, she wanted to feel his lips on hers, his body against her own, just once more before he left for the south. She wanted comfort and forgiveness and understanding, if such were possible now between them—and wanted to give him the same.

  Although she would have to separate herself from Duncan to avert the fate she had foreseen for him, she yearned for him. Brushing back her hair, she carefully opened the door.

  Kenneth was there, putting a finger to his lips. "Get dressed, now," he whispered. "Meet us down in the yard."

  "You cannot ride out on a raid now that the bond in signed—we gave our promise!"

  "Hugh summons us. Come on, girl." He waited in the dark recess of the stairs. Elspeth dressed quickly, throwing on a shirt and wrapping her plaid hastily, taking no time to braid her hair, though she pulled on a pair of woolen trews against the night's chill. Then she descended the narrow stair behind Kenneth and made her way to the yard.

  Magnus waited there, holding the reins of a pair of garrons. Her other cousins stood nearby expectantly. She glanced from one to another, then saw Duncan seated on a horse, his posture strangely slanted, his head tilted to the side. Callum stood beside his horse and seemed to be holding Duncan up with one hand.

  "Drunk, he is," Callum explained.

  Frowning, Elspeth looked at the others. "What is going on here? There can be no raids tonight. And I have never seen Duncan Macrae drunk—not like that."

  "He was sad to leave you," Ewan said. "And so we thought to help him, and you. On your horse, now, Elspeth."

  "Are you all drunk, too?" She had an odd feeling, a warning in her gut. She stepped back. "I will not—"

  Quick as the snap of a whip, Kenneth pulled a plaid from a saddle and threw it over her head, catching her like a fish in a net. Struggling, she pushed against the pairs of arms that now held her, lifted her. Cursing, bucking against their handling, she kicked her feet into solid muscle here and there, but despite her efforts she was flung over the saddle like a sack of barley.

  She was not frightened, but was angry and puzzled. Why would they do this in the black of night, when they could not go raiding now? What did they intend with Duncan?

  The answer that came to her was so alarming that she kicked and struggled frantically. One of her cousins had climbed into the saddle and held her down. She shrieked, bucked in protest, but the plaid was tight around her and she had no choice but to subside as the garron surged beneath her and moved steadily over the moorland.

  The air inside the plaid was stale and smelled of horses, and her head hung downward uncomfortably. She squirmed, trying to right herself, but could not. After a while, her cousin—she was sure he was Callum, for his hands were that large—gripped her arms and dragged her upright to sit in front of him. "Just behave," he warned.

  "Behave?" she squeaked through the cocoon of wool. "And do any of you show good manners? Let me go! I do not like your drunken game!"

  "Not so drunk, girl. We want you to be happy, that is all, so we take you to be wed."

  "Happy?" she shrieked. "Wed? You abduct your own cousin for this? Wed who?"

  "Duncan Macrae. A fine idea, is it not?" She could hear his grin in his voice. She elbowed him. He grunted. "Now, girl, you will be glad of this later."

  "I will be glad when I can curse you to your face, you gloichd!"

  "Ah, Elspeth, that hurts, to be called in idiot."

  "Well, you are! Take me home. Take this blanket off me!"

  "I cannot. The MacShimi has ordered this."

  "Then he is an idiot with all of you. Did Duncan Macrae suggest this? I said I would not wed him!"

  "He did not. We do you both a favor," Callum said.

  "Give me none of your help," she muttered.

  Callum laughed. She turned her head back and forth in agitation, trying to loosen the snug plaid. Finally her cousin let the fabric out a bit, and she felt fresh air, though he would not lift the plaid away.

  They rode on while Elspeth fumed beneath the plaid, squirmed and swore, threatened and muttered creatively about the demise of each of her cousins.

  "Hold now," Callum said. "We might deserve such awful fates—but later you may name your sons after us."

  "I will name a plague on you," she said.

  "We knew you would not come peacefully. We thought the marriage should be made, and this was the quickest way."

  She leaned back against him as the pony took a steep hill. She was about to describe some ugly demise for Duncan Macrae as well, thinking him part of this drunken scheme, until she remembered that a grim fate already awaited him.

  That sobered her anger. "Callum, please do not do this. You do not understand—I cannot wed this man."

  "Here we are," Callum said then, halting the pony. He slid from the saddle and lifted her down. She snarled and struggled, determined to make this difficult for him, and all of them.

  He carried her, swathed in the plaid, into a building, climbing a few steps to the entrance. Voices echoed all around her, quiet but hollow. She heard footsteps and echoes, the soft sounds of a stone interior, though she could still hear the moan of a fresh wind. They were inside, and yet outside.

  A ruin, she thought. They were in some dilapidated stone structure. Callum set her down and someone else bound her arms to her
sides. She pushed in vain against the new bonds.

  "Hold, girl," Kenneth said at her ear. "Your temper does not belong in church."

  "Church! Take the plaid from me. Please," she added.

  "Not yet, mo gradhan," he said with affection, patting her shoulder. He left her there.

  Long moments passed, and she felt panic rise from being half-smothered in the old plaid. Hopping about, she nearly fell over, her balance off kilter. Hearing a scrape and a thud close by, then a groan, she knew the voice. "Duncan?" she asked.

  "Aye," he muttered. "Dhia, my head hurts."

  Elspeth scowled. "And I hope it hurts you till Doomsday!"

  "Do you think that I—"

  "Are these the two?" A voice trembling with age spoke close by now. Elspeth heard Magnus answer affirmatively.

  "Is the girl willing to take the man?" the old man asked. "I do not condone—"

  "She is willing," Magnus said, and Hugh echoed him.

  "Very well."

  Elspeth knew the old man's voice—a parish priest named Patrick. She guessed that they were standing in an abandoned church a few miles north of Glenran, beyond the great loch.

  "Father Patrick!" she said. "Och, someone take this thing off my head!" She stumbled into Duncan, who grunted and fell to his knees while she floundered on him like a landed fish.

  "Hold still, my girl, I cannot help you with my hands bound," he said, his voice close to her ear.

  "I want no help from a drunken idiot who helps with a marriage abduction," she said through her teeth. She wriggled away from him but he turned on his side and she was pinned face to face with him against a stone wall, his chest hard against her softness.

  "I am as surprised by this as you. Stop wiggling about," Duncan muttered, "pleasant as it is."

  "Pleasant!" She thrust her fist into his midsection.

  "Oof," he said.

  "Father Patrick!" she called as Duncan took her over in a roll, both of them tangled in the plaid.

  "Elspeth, listen," Duncan whispered.