by King, Susan
Then a black shadow stepped around the side of the house, the shape of a man. She gasped, and stepped forward. "Duncan?"
Hands reached out for her, yanking her nearly off her feet. She was dragged into the fierce embrace of two strong arms. One hand held a gleaming dirk.
"Let me go!" she cried, struggling.
"Easy, girl," Ruari said. "And I will not harm you."
"You have done enough harm here already," she said.
"I brought back the lamb," he said, clapping a hand over her mouth. "For the child. I did not mean to hurt her. She surprised me, running up behind me. I hope she is unharmed."
Elspeth's reply was muffled by his hand as he dragged her away. Unable to break free, she wrenched at the bronze brooch she wore on her plaid, and dropped it in the dooryard.
Moments later, another man stepped out of the darkness and raised his arm. Something heavy struck into her head and sent her thoughts spinning into oblivion.
* * *
Trussed by the plaid wrapped around her torso like swaddling bands as she rode at the front of Ruari's saddle, Elspeth felt an unrelenting headache. She had endured hours of travel in a fog, half awake. Now, more alert, she was aware of Ruari's chest and paunch against her back. She struggled to sit straighter. The ride was like a cruel mockery of her marriage abduction. She elbowed Ruari, nearly throwing herself off balance for the pleasure of the blow.
"Stop," he growled in her ear. "Strike at me again and I will show you how well I can thrust at you. But perhaps you would like that."
The suggestion, not the first such that she had heard from him, made her feel ill. Biting back a sharp reply, she glanced at his brother, Niall MacDonald, who rode beside them. He was a broad-shouldered, large man who had not uttered more than a few words the entire time. She sensed a dimness there, as if he were a half-wit. She turned away from both of them and watched the mountains.
Studying the purple slopes, she realized, with a start, how far they had come since leaving Bethoc's croft. The mountains were not so distant here as in Glenran. Purple heather mingled with dun grasses to produce a swirled effect, like oil and water. An eagle soared past, high in the sky, and the cold wind cut like steel. Oddly grateful for the warm plaid wrapped so snugly around her torso, she wished that her hands were free, so that she could pull the plaid over her head; her ears stung with cold.
The night had passed in a daze of headache and fatigue. Hardly aware how much time had passed or how far they had gone, she now realized that daylight had come again, cloudy and cool. They had stopped now and then, sharing dried meat, oatcakes, water. She barely remembered much of the travel or the ordeal. But now her head was clearing, and she was furious and frantic.
But she knew she must use her anger and any strength for clear thought, and a plan.
Where were they taking her? The high chief of Clan MacDonald had his castle in the west, she knew. Perhaps they rode there, but what did Ruari mean to do? She was already wed, though she wondered if Ruari even knew it.
She glanced back. Ruari MacDonald had a jaw like a warthog, she decided, peppered with a rust-colored beard, and almost said so.
"Not much farther," he said. "Have you ever seen the sea?" He said nothing more, and Niall never spoke at all until they halted the horses by a wide stream at twilight.
Ruari lifted her down from the saddle and she asked for water and said she must tend to herself. He hesitated, then undid the plaid that bound her.
She went to the shore of the stream, sipped water from her hands, and then found a high bush, behind which she could relieve herself. When she emerged, Ruari grabbed her arm and led her to a tree, telling her to sit. She took up the discarded plaid and wrapped it around her, for the night air was chilly. Niall already sat beneath the tree, looking bored.
"What do you mean to do with me?" she asked. "My cousins will ride after you."
Niall grunted. He reached into his plaid and pulled out a cloth packet, unwrapping a few scraps of leathery beef. He began to chew slowly. Stopping, he held it out toward Elspeth. She shook her head in refusal.
Ruari had seen to the garrons, and now sat beside her. "No one will ride after us," he said. "Your cousins signed a bond of caution, so they cannot ride after us."
"We heard the same of you," she said.
"Ah. My uncle, the chief, signed some document from the crown that mentioned Frasers. But my brothers and I did not sign any paper." He shrugged. "We cannot write."
"My cousins and my husband will find you," she said. "Count up your days."
"Husband?" He leaned forward and grabbed her arm through the thick plaid. "Who?"
"I am wed to Duncan Macrae, the queen's lawyer," she said, knowing it would either stir trouble or secure her release.
He glowered. "The queen's Lowland lawyer is your husband now?"
"He is a Macrae of Dulsie, in Kintail," she said, lifting her chin.
Ruari jumped to his feet. "Holy blood! You have wed a Macrae of Dulsie?" He yanked her to her feet, grasping her by the arms. "Are you a fool, to say this to me?"
She stared at him, confused. "What do you mean?"
He leaned forward. "The Macraes of Dulsie and the MacDonald clan are old, bitter enemies. This man must be the son of Dougal Macrae." He swore and turned away.
"Macrae had five sons," he said. "The Five Brothers of Kintail, they were called, since Dulsie Castle lies beneath the mountains called the Five Sisters. Dougal and two of his sons were killed by men of our clan several years ago."
"Why?" she asked.
He snorted as if she were stupid. "Defeated like whining curs, of course. They were caught in a raid. Our clans have been feuding for generations." He folded his burly arms over his chest; he was hardly taller than she, though he weighed nearly two of her.
"I was a child then, but I heard the tales," he told her. "How the sons of Dougal Macrae were like wildcats after revenge, attacking any MacDonald they could find. They raided day or night, burned homes, stole animals, killed as many men as they could find."
"You and your brothers do that to our clan often enough. We have come to expect your little visits."
He slid a dark glance at her. "The Macraes raided alone, just the three sons who were left, lads they were, hardly older. But they were unstoppable. They were legendary, after a while. The women told the little ones that the wild Macraes would get them if they did not behave." He shook his head. "They did stop, after a year or so. Two of them died. Another went to Edinburgh." He looked at her. "And this is the man you have married."
"Wild Macrae," Niall said, nodding. "Get you!"
Listening, a cold shiver went through Elspeth as she thought of Duncan's scar and the images that had come to her when she had touched it. She had tapped the hurt there as if it were a vein. And Ruari, of all men, had told her what Duncan held inside.
She drew a breath. "My husband is a Macrae of Dulsie, and he will come after you now."
Ruari snarled, grabbing her by the plaid and yanking her forward. "You were meant to marry me," he growled. "I took you away from the witch's home to see it done. But now—" he flung her away. She fell awkwardly over a rock. Ruari's leather-covered feet stepped near her face as she lay in the dry autumn grass. He poked at her with one shoe.
"But now you have wed a man who is an enemy to my clan. I think, Niall," he called, "that we have found a way to avenge the wrong done to our clan by the wild Macraes."
Niall grunted. "Revenge," he said, sounding as if he savored some rich flavor.
Ruari ripped the plaid off of her, pulling so hard that she rolled with the drag. Lying on the ground in her long, rumpled shirt, in trews and deerskin boots, she hardly dared to move.
"But first," Ruari said, "I will have what the Macrae has had. It is my right."
* * *
The night wind was cold, the moor black as hell's own path, barely lit by cold thin moonlight. Duncan rode beside Magnus, both of them grim and intent on their ride. Listening to the thu
nder of their horses' hooves, Duncan felt the sound echo in his heart.
The wind tore at his hair, blowing it back like wings, filling the plaid he wore. He gripped his knees to the garron and pushed onward, tireless, having no need for sleep or food or drink. He felt such rage and steel-hard determination that he could feel no discomfort. He had no need but revenge.
Two nights ago, they had returned to Bethoc's croft after a futile search for Ruari and his brothers. Hugh and Callum had gone on to Castle Glenran, but Duncan and Magnus had decided to stay the night at Bethoc's. Exhausted, not wanting to disturb Bethoc or the child, they had laid down beneath their plaids in the yard. They slept like great rocks, without movement or awareness. Just before dawn, Bethoc had come out of the house to push at Duncan's shoulder anxiously.
She had awoken, she had said, to find Elspeth missing.
Signs of a scuffle were faint, but Bethoc soon found Elspeth's brooch. Conclusions came quickly, especially after Bethoc held the brooch quietly and then announced that Ruari had the girl, and no doubt of it.
Bethoc had looked at him with dark, knowing eyes. "They ride west," she said, "for the sea. Here is the favor you owe me, Duncan Macrae. Ride, and find her. Bring her back."
"No favor," he had told her, "but my own pleasure to do it." Duncan remembered, and still felt, the anguish that had sliced through him like a claymore's blade. He had stood in the small house to strip off his black cloak.
"I have left my fine plaid at Glenran," he told Bethoc. "I would ask the loan of another from you."
Bethoc had brought him a folded tartan cloth of deep blue and dark green, the colors the Frasers favored. He had wrapped it around him silently, his face grim, his heart beating with a purposeful thud, a warrior's rhythm. Then he had felt the fierce blood, the wild Macrae blood, coursing through his veins.
Bethoc had opened a wooden chest and had brought out a claymore wrapped in wool. "My husband's," she had told him, handing it to him. "He died with the Frasers at Blar-na-Léine. He was a fine Highland man. Like you." She laid a hand on his arm. "Ride to the sea, Duncan. To the sea."
Duncan had belted on the heavy, sharp blade and had left the cottage to leap onto his horse. Magnus, after kissing his small daughter, had mounted to ride with him. There was no time to go to the castle for the others. Bethoc would see to it that they found out what had happened.
They had ridden at this pace for two days and nights, hardly stopping except to rest briefly, and to rest the horses; Duncan marveled at the tireless perseverance of the Highland garrons. Only a few words had been exchanged between them each time they had stopped to share the food and flasks of uisge beatha that Bethoc had sent with them. There was little to say, and much riding to be done.
Magnus had found the tracks of two horses, one carrying a heavier load than the other, the burden of two riders. Bethoc had been right in divining that Ruari headed west. Duncan surmised that they would go to the clan chief's castle on the wild western coast.
He knew the place; it was not far from Dulsie. Now, each passing league brought him closer to his home. Closer to Elspeth.
His wife. The thought nearly rocked him from his seat: his wife, as fragile in appearance as a fairy's child, and as strong as steel hidden beneath a layer of gold. He knew that she had the will and the wit to hold her own against Ruari. She would have to, until he found her.
Clenching the reins tighter, he rode on.
Chapter 19
O they rode on, and farther on,
And they waded through rivers aboon the knee
And they saw neither sun nor moon
But they heard the roaring of the sea.
~"Thomas Rhymer"
"Lay a hand on me, and I will curse your soul to the depths of hell," Elspeth said. She rolled to her feet and cautiously stood, legs wide apart, hunched down, a fighting stance that her cousins had taught her.
Ruari moved toward her, and she skirted back. Niall still sat beneath the alder tree, chewing his food and watching them. Elspeth fixed her gaze on Ruari, who balanced the dirk in one hand.
"Come here, girl," he said, almost mildly. "I will not hurt you. We can warm each other through this cold night."
"Warm yourself in hell," she said.
"Elspeth," he said, "you were promised to me first. I have a right to do with you as I please."
She flicked a glance behind her and backed toward a dense cluster of trees and bracken. She would be able to run through there more nimbly than Ruari, she knew.
Ruari advanced toward her. "Come here, witch," he said.
Then she realized that she had a powerful weapon, if she knew how to use it. Ruari's own fear could help her.
She straightened and stood still. Taking a deep breath, she rolled her eyes back and spread her arms wide. Ruari moved forward, grinning widely, apparently pleased with her compliance.
Then Elspeth began to murmur words that Bethoc had taught her, a lilting chant in an ancient language. She lifted her face to the night sky and sang out the chant in a clear voice. She drew a symbol overhead. The spell was one that asked favors of the air spirits. She only needed its ruse, and repeated the chant, sliding a quick glance at Ruari.
He had stopped, and was tilting his head suspiciously. Elspeth ended the chant and looked at him, extending her arm and pointing to him.
As if she had summoned it, a wind rushed through then, icy and strong, lifting Ruari's plaid about his knees, whipping at his hair. He opened his mouth and stared at her. Behind him, Niall stood and moved forward.
She pointed, and began to speak. "Do not touch a seer in the midst of a vision, Ruari MacDonald," she said, "or you will see the same sight yourself." She rolled her eyes back and shuddered for his benefit.
Ruari stepped close, but did not touch her. He motioned to Niall, who came to stand beside him. She could smell their unwashed odor.
"I see the ravens overhead," she said. Ruari looked up at the night sky; she glanced at him, and rolled her eyes back up. "Ravens who bring me news of your clan's demise. Of your own doom. Leave this place."
"Dhia," Ruari muttered. "Stop this."
She drew a deep breath. "I see the death of your clan," she said. She closed her eyes, and her breath suddenly quickened. A shiver coursed through her from the top of her head to her toes, a piercing jolt. Her knees nearly buckled at its surge.
The vision was real now, and she was caught. She saw men lying on a snowy field in a wide glen, edged by high mountains. Gasping, butchered, the men dragged themselves across the moonlit snow. She saw women with them, and children, all dying. Dark crags, vicious slopes, overlooked the horrible scene. She wanted to look away, but could not. She wanted to scream. Then the words came.
"The MacDonalds will trust those who cannot be trusted," she said. "Tragedy, devastation will follow." She raised a trembling hand to her head, her senses spinning now.
"You lie." Ruari reached out and grabbed her shoulder. "Stop—" he said, and was suddenly silent. His eyes grew wide. "Stop!" he shrieked, leaping away from her. "Cursed witch!" he said. "I saw the mountains—Glencoe, it was. People were dying there. This Sight comes from the devil!"
"Glencoe," she said, dully. The vision had faded, and she felt sick, drained. "That night will not come for more than a hundred years. You are safe from that death, Ruari. But not from another." She stumbled to her knees, and nearly fainted, holding herself up with her hands flat on the ground.
"Ruari not die. Witch," Niall said. He stepped forward and pulled her up. "Witch dies."
As he began to lift her, a surge of blackness filled her sight, and she fainted.
* * *
When she awoke, she was restrained in the warm swaddling of the plaid once again. Flung over the front of a horse, she saw Ruari's leg, and saw the night-dark ground rushing past. She closed her eyes, afraid she would be sick.
She lost consciousness again. Awareness came back when Ruari dragged her from the horse and began to carry her. Hearing an insisten
t rhythm, a loud shushing noise, she lifted her head.
The wind whipped damp and cool, and she could smell the salt in it. Ruari carried her along a cliff edge. She tried to struggle, but could not move her arms or legs. Beyond the cliff, she saw the wide gleam of water, touched with white foam in the dimness. A thick fringe of trees and rocky hillsides rose all around the water, enclosing the narrow end of it.
"This loch runs to the sea," Ruari said. "The tides sweep in and out of here as high as they do in the oceans." He stomped down a slope with her in his arms, and headed out across a pebbled beach. Dense weeds clustered at the water's edge, and waves rushed at the shore, loud and powerful. The loch was like a small sea, its waters sliding out toward a gray-blue horizon that was still far from dawn.
Realizing that he meant to take her into the loch, Elspeth twisted and bucked furiously. When he set her down on her feet and backhanded her, she reeled with the blow. He caught her and slung her over his shoulder, knocking the breath from her.
For all that Ruari had done against her so far, he had not shown Elspeth the same overt violence that he had shown, too often, to Bethoc. A chill crept over her. Sensing the depth of his cold hatred, mingled with fear and ignorance, she knew, suddenly, that he meant to do real harm to her.
"We have no tolerance for witches here," Ruari said as he walked on. "And we have a particular punishment for them."
"Witch," she heard then. Niall was somewhere behind them.
"Macrae will kill you if you harm me," she said.
"He will try to kill me no matter what I have done," Ruari said. "I am a MacDonald, and he is one of the wild Macraes. He needs no excuse to come after me. But now I will kill him in his soul before I kill his flesh. And help to avenge my clan."
"What do you mean to do?" she asked.
"Niall and I mean to drown a witch," he said mildly. "Niall thinks it is the best thing to do. Eh, Niall?"
"Kill the witch," Niall said. Elspeth raised her head and glared at him. He moved away from her.
