The Raven's Wish

by King, Susan

  Elspeth stared at him; her eyes were gray as mist.

  Magnus cleared his throat. "You have the Sight," he said, with a tone of respect.

  Duncan shook his head. "It was just a dream. But it gave me an idea of where to find her. I know the area. This was a logical place for Ruari to bring her, if he thought her a witch."

  "But you did not know he would accuse her," Magnus said.

  "It was good reasoning," Duncan said, feeling awkward.

  "Duncan," Elspeth said, laying her hand on his arm, "three times you had this dream. It was a true vision. You are a seer."

  "Not me," he said, shaking his head. "Not me." He did not want to hear this. The Sight could not exist; he had not yet explained Elspeth's ways, but his dream had been just a dream.

  But it had led him straight to her when she needed him.

  He stood abruptly and walked away, bending down to swoop up his things scattered over the stones. He yanked on his shirt and sat to pull on the boots, aware of the silence of the others watching him. Belting his shirt over his trews, he shoved the sword into place and stood.

  "Come ahead, then," he said. "We have to get back home again, now that we have come all the way out here."

  Magnus rose slowly. Elspeth looked pale, stunned. Warily, Duncan turned.

  Several paces away, Ruari MacDonald advanced over the pebbled beach, Niall MacDonald loping beside him.

  "Hold!" Ruari called, drawing his sword from its scabbard. "Hold, Macrae, while I slice you—we will feast on your bones."

  Duncan began to pull his blade free, and Magnus moved.

  Ruari rushed them, roaring like a wild boar, plunging at Duncan with his sword raised to strike.

  * * *

  Elspeth struggled to her feet, but her legs were weak and faltered beneath her. She sank to her knees on the hard, pebbled beach, raising a fist to her mouth as she watched the four men fight with dirks and broad-bladed claymores. Every thrust, every arcing clash of the steel blades made her flinch.

  She had never seen true blood-lust before. But she saw it now in Ruari, who rushed at Duncan, savage power behind each swinging blow. A raging animal, Ruari's fury made him careless. His swings went too wide, fast, wild.

  Duncan, balancing on the balls of his feet, sliced quick and viciously. Ruari stared at the blood welling from his upper arm, then swung. Duncan ducked and slid to the side, forcing Ruari to whirl around. Ruari struck again, furiously. Duncan leaped to the side with a powerful, easy grace, more agile than Ruari. The loud clash of their broadswords echoed across the stones.

  Magnus fought with Niall, who came at him with a plodding efficiency, a strong opponent without quickness or cleverness. When Niall rushed forward, overbalanced in his thrust, Magnus rolled with him to the stony surface of the beach.

  Watching anxiously, Elspeth saw Duncan swipe his blade at Ruari, beating him back, until the shorter man stumbled over the uneven pebbles and fell. Gasping, Elspeth waited for the bloody thrust of Duncan's weapon. He stood over Ruari, breath heaving his chest.

  He touched the tip of his blade to Ruari's chest. Then, with a growl, Duncan turned his back in an utter and humiliating dismissal. He began to walk away.

  Elspeth knew that he could have easily thrust at Ruari in the chest or belly, but he had not done it. She sobbed in relief, and yet fear, rising to her feet as Duncan walked away. Magnus and Niall still struggled. Elspeth gave them another anxious glance and turned back, her stomach tight with dread.

  Ruari got to his feet and ran, head down, cannoning into Duncan just as the larger man pulled his dirk from his belt. Duncan slid off to the side in one smooth movement. Ruari rolled over his back and flipped grotesquely, crashing headfirst onto the stones, as he and Duncan fell together.

  Elspeth covered her mouth with shaking hands. Neither man moved. Blood quickly soaked Duncan's sleeve. Then he shifted and came to his knees. Elspeth ran forward, glancing nervously at Ruari's still form.

  "Duncan—" she began.

  "I am fine," he rasped. He came up on one knee. "Dhia," he said. "He is dead." He poked at Ruari, but the man's head rolled unnaturally. "His neck must be broken."

  She gasped, and would have spoken, but a terrible roar behind her caused her to turn. Niall had gotten away from Magnus, and came toward them, head and arms hanging down as he shrieked. Elspeth jumped back.

  Falling to his knees, Niall roared again, with such anguish that Elspeth felt tears burst in her eyes. Duncan stood, dirk in hand, but Niall made no move to attack him. He only knelt, and screamed, and covered his brother's body with his own.

  "Niall—" she said, gently. Niall shifted stiffly to his knees. His dark eyes reflected fear and deep pain as his head swung toward Duncan.

  "Killed Ruari!" he bellowed, and stood. Duncan stepped away, adopting a cautious stance, raising his dirk.

  Niall, gripping his own dirk, rushed at Duncan, who sidestepped him effortlessly. Niall came at him again, and knocked Duncan to the ground, trapping his dirk hand.

  Elspeth saw blood flow freely from Duncan's arm as he struggled against Niall's strength. She glanced around desperately, looking for a weapon.

  Ruari's sword lay on the beach, several steps away. She ran there, noticing as she went that Magnus lay on the beach. Hesitating, she took a step toward him; seeing him move slightly, she ran for the sword. Once she held it in her hands, she whirled and ran back to Duncan.

  The claymore was the heaviest she had ever held, although the blade was shorter than those used by her cousins. She lifted it, her slender wrists wobbling with the effort.

  Niall and Duncan rolled on the beach as Niall held Duncan's throat in a crushing grip and tried to stab him with the dirk in his other hand. Duncan held him back with his weakened arm as he tried to maneuver his own dirk into position to stab Niall.

  Elspeth, watching, could not wait longer. She raised the claymore and brought it down on Niall's head broadside.

  A suspended moment, and then Niall slumped. Duncan pushed him away. Elspeth watched Niall anxiously, and saw with relief that he still breathed.

  Duncan rose to his feet, shoving his hair out of his eyes. The wound in his arm seeped blood. Elspeth reached toward his arm, murmuring concern.

  "Leave it," he said, "I am fine. I see that you learned how to wield a claymore after all."

  "Well enough to be of help," she said. He nodded, still catching his breath, and smiled at her. Then he glanced down the beach at Magnus, and a frown creased his brow.

  A few quick strides, and Duncan reached Magnus, who still lay on the beach. Elspeth ran, and knelt beside Magnus as he struggled to sit up, his hand clutched to his belly. When she saw the blood dripping between his fingers, she touched his shoulder gently. "Let me look."

  He took his hand away, and she suppressed the gasp that rose in her throat. Duncan, standing beside her, knelt to look over her shoulder. The wound was wide and deep, a vicious slice that entered just under Magnus's ribs.

  Elspeth bit at her lip, knowing that a deep wound, just there, could kill a strong man in a few hours. Magnus was already visibly weak. With careful, gentle hands, she pulled the long tail of his shirt out of his plaid, peeling it away from the wound. At her soft word, Duncan tore a length of the shirt and handed it to her to wad against the wound. He tore another length and helped her wrap the linen around Magnus's ribs.

  Elspeth turned away from Magnus toward Duncan, speaking quietly. "We must get him to a house, to somewhere that he can rest and be tended," she murmured. "We cannot go back to Glenran now. If he travels far, he will die."

  Duncan nodded. He turned his head to look toward the mountains that loomed over the loch. Elspeth watched him, one hand laid gently on Magnus's shoulder.

  Duncan looked back at her. "I know a place."

  "Take us there, then," she said.

  "We will have to travel for three hours or more. Do you think Magnus can do it?"

  "We will not let him die," she said. "You and I together will
keep him alive."

  Duncan nodded. She took his arm and began to roll his sleeve up, the cloth reddened with blood from a deep cut in his upper arm. He pulled away at first, but she sent him an insistent scowl. Sighing, he held his arm out for her to wipe. She wrapped the wound with a torn piece from Duncan's own shirt.

  "Where will you take us?" she asked.

  He looked at her then, his eyes a somber blue, like a deep loch. "We will go to Dulsie Castle," he said.

  * * *

  A twisting pass took them upwards, closer to the wild mountain peaks that rose dark and desolate to the east, their treacherous rocky rises coated with mosses and pierced by spouts of falling water. To the west lay steep downward slopes, a long expanse of dry brown grass and the silvery stems of dying heather. Far below that lay a blue maze of sea lochs and inlets.

  Duncan pulled his plaid, borrowed from Ruari MacDonald's body, up over his shoulders, bending his head against the wind. The pathway between the high and the low ground was open to the cold, brisk winds. He rode the garron at an easy pace, reaching out an arm now and again to support Magnus, who sat his own garron beside Duncan.

  Magnus shook his head wearily. "I can ride, man," he said, his voice hoarse.

  Duncan looked at him, seeing the gray pallor in Magnus's face. He had to admire his endurance, the fact that Magnus had sat his horse and had kept conscious despite pain and blood loss. "Not much farther, man, I promise you," Duncan said.

  Elspeth, riding on the other side of Magnus, leaned forward to look at Duncan. "Where is Dulsie from here?" she asked.

  "A few miles only, now," he said. "We have been traveling slowly, but steady enough. We have come a long way in these past hours. At the top of this last hill, the pass narrows and climbs downward"—he pointed ahead—"and we will see Dulsie."

  She nodded, and he watched her for a moment, saw the wild glint of her coppery hair blowing with the breeze, noted the tired curve of her shoulders. He wanted to reach out to her, but his own heart was heavy, and held him back. The closer he got to Dulsie, the more tense he had become, and withdrawn.

  And the price he had paid at the loch, leagues behind them now, weighed on him like a stone. He had broken the bond by his own action. He drew a deep breath, and looked at Elspeth.

  "At Dulsie we will be able to eat and sleep," he said. "I know that you are tired."

  "You as well," she said. "I will sleep and eat only after Magnus is seen to. Will there be an herb garden at Dulsie, where I can find what I need to treat Magnus?"

  He nodded. "My sister Mairi, Alasdair's wife, will be there to help you. My other sister Kirsty is too young yet to be of help, I think. And my grandmother is knowledgeable," he said. "She will know what to do, and will have whatever you need. She treated my back wound when my family thought I might die of it—" he stopped.

  "Duncan," she said, "why have you stayed away from Dulsie?"

  He shook his head and glanced away. There was much to tell her, but he had no desire to begin now. Soon enough he would see those walls, would ride through that gate, and would face his grandmother, and his past.

  He looked up at the sky. The gray, misty morning had cleared to a bright, crisp day. Shadows of clouds floated over the hills. The air was cold and keen as wine. He flared his nostrils to breathe it in, and a muscle pulsed in his jaw as he thought of how much he dreaded, and wanted, to see Dulsie Castle.

  But he knew that it was time he went home. The peaks that rose steep and bare ahead of them were part of the Kintail mountains that would lead to Dulsie Castle. His heart thudded at the sight of them.

  He looked at Elspeth again. "There, at the base of that mountain, lies Dulsie," he said, pointing toward a faded blue peak in the distance, its angular tip ringed with soft clouds.

  "Tull-sìth," she said. "Why is it called the fairy hill?"

  "There is a legend from long ago," he said, "that says the hill on which the castle sits was once inhabited by fairies. The first Macrae to build on that hill fell in love with a fairy woman. She wed him, and bore his children. He went away to sail the sea, and was lost in a storm. But his wife had given him a magic net of silver thread to take with him.

  "The fairy woman went out each night and called his name, holding a long silver thread in her hands, the same as the thread she had used to weave his net. She pulled the thread through her hands, and sang out his name.

  "One day the laird came walking back to Dulsie. He greeted his wife, and said that although he had been washed overboard, the net had floated him to shore, bringing him back to her."

  "That is a lovely tale," Elspeth said.

  "It is said," Duncan went on, "that the lairds of Dulsie will always return if they leave, no matter the reason."

  He saw Elspeth glance quickly at him. "And you are the laird of Dulsie now," she said, "coming home."

  "I am, since my last brother's death a few months ago." He returned her gaze evenly.

  Duncan led them down the last of the twisting, slanted pass, and they struck out over tufted, rough moorland. "There," he said, "is Dulsie."

  His heart pounded at the sight, so familiar and yet so strange. Unchanged in sixteen years, it looked somehow new to his eyes. Gray stone, shaped in a square, bold tower, had faded to a soft color that blended harmoniously with the rich greens of the fir-clad mountain slopes behind the castle. A high stone wall encircled the tower-house, and a narrow river, rocky and turbulent, rushed around the curve of the fairy hill like a natural moat. A long causeway of the same gray stone crossed the rapid torrent, linking the castle to a strip of moorland.

  They crossed the moor that rolled toward the causeway, then the garrons' hooves were clattering on the stone bridge. Pausing, Duncan waved.

  "I am Duncan Macrae!" he called out. "Duncan Macrae, bringing two Frasers!"

  After a surprised shout, someone called out an order to open the gate. He rode through, aware that the three of them looked ragged and exhausted. He saw that Magnus, in spite of his wound, sat tall in his saddle, and Duncan knew that had to come from sheer pride and determination.

  Duncan slid from his horse and turned to help Elspeth. Her knees buckled, but she shook off his hand and stood. Duncan looked around the castle yard. A few servants stared at him. Two Highlanders, Macrae cousins whom he recognized immediately in spite of the passage of years, began to walk toward him.

  He greeted them tentatively. They clasped his hand with cautious acceptance, and then turned to help him lift Magnus from the horse.

  "Duncan!" He turned to see Alasdair running toward him. Throwing his arms around Duncan, Alasdair Fraser clapped him on the back and shoulders. Wincing as his arm was jarred, Duncan returned the embrace.

  He drew back. "Alasdair, may I present my wife?"

  They turned to see Elspeth smile. Alasdair's eyes popped wide. "Wife! You two have much to tell me! Come here, cousin!" He held out his arms and Elspeth came into them.

  Duncan looked around to see two young women standing nearby. One was tall and brown-haired with a sweet face, whom he did not recognize. The other one, small and dark, held a baby wrapped in a plaid that matched the shawl over her gray dress. A delighted smile lit the woman's face, her blue eyes sparkling.

  "Welcome home, brathair," she said, and stepped forward into his arms.

  "Mairi," he breathed, wrapping his sister and her child gently in his arms. Though she appeared delicate, he remembered that she had an iron will hidden behind her fragile exterior. He held her, feeling the baby kick out between them. They laughed and looked at him.

  "Dougal Macrae," she said, "ready for his nap."

  He glanced at the other woman, who, he now saw, was much younger than Mairi, near Elspeth's age. She smiled at him shyly, her rich brown hair and serene face reminding him of someone. He drew in his breath—she looked like their mother.

  "Kirsty?" he asked. "Is this Kirsty, grown to a beauty? You were but three when I left."

  "Duncan," she smiled, and came forward to kiss his
cheek. Nearby, Alasdair asked the Macraes to carry Magnus up the outer stone steps into the tower-house. Magnus protested, but no one listened closely. Kirsty turned to lead the way, calling to a servant to fetch hot water and cloths.

  Duncan turned Mairi toward Elspeth. Bouncing the crying child, Mairi smiled and took Elspeth's hand in hers. "Welcome," she said. "And thank you for bringing Duncan home again, after so long. We have missed him."

  "Mairi," he said, "where is—"

  She nodded toward the tower. He turned.

  A woman stood at the top of the long flight of stone steps that angled up to the tower entrance. Her hair was as white as the soft clouds that sailed overhead, her eyes as blue as he remembered them. She was tiny, her stooped shoulders wrapped in a plaid over a brown kirtle. The woman watched him for a long moment.

  Duncan moved forward. He glanced back at Elspeth, motioning her forward with him. She came with some hesitation.

  He stopped at the bottom step, Elspeth standing behind him, and looked up the long flight.

  "Grandmother Innis," he said, "I have come home."

  "Duncan." Innis Macrae looked at him for a long time. He grew nervous under her resolute stare. "I had heard from Alasdair that you were in the Highlands." Her voice was older, tremulous, her face more gaunt than he remembered. He wanted to mount the stairs toward her, but her eagle's stare kept him where he was.

  "You have brought a wife?"

  He remembered that she had never missed any detail; age had not dimmed her sight or hearing. "I have," he said.

  "I tell you, Duncan Macrae," she said, "if you had not come here, I would have ridden to the Fraser castle myself to fetch you home again." She beckoned him forward. "Welcome home."

  Chapter 21

  Come lay me soft, and draw me near,

  And lay thy white hand over me,

  For I am starving in the cold,

  And thou art bound to cover me.

  ~"Love in Despair"

  Duncan leaned against the bedpost and looked at the bed, where Magnus lay beneath a pile of fur coverlets. Innis stood nearby, his grandmother's small blue-veined hand on Magnus's brow. Beside her, Kirsty leaned over to apply warm, wet herbs over the wound, then gently wrapped a folded cloth over his bared abdomen. She drew up the sheet and stood back.