by King, Susan
"With reason, as I fear for your safety. Or your balance, at least." He smiled.
"Remember, you brought me up here yourself just a few weeks ago. I like it up here." She leaned against the support of the rock behind her. The solid bulk of her belly was round and smooth beneath the shapeless woolen gown she wore. A plaid of Fraser blue and green covered her shoulders and full breasts. Her slender bare legs and feet swung out beneath the hem of the gown. "Although this will be the last time I climb up here for a while. True, I do not have the balance I used to have."
He grunted at that, but did not laugh. He knew to tread carefully through her high and low moods of late, though Innis had assured him that this would pass with the birth of the child. "You could have asked me to come up with you. I would have taken you a little way up."
"As if I were a feeble thing, when I am so strong and healthy? There are at least two months left before he will be born. I came as far as was safe. The first time we came up here, you led me much higher." She pointed behind and above, where the grassy slope became a rocky, challenging climb, where cloud rings hung suspended. "I had to come up today. The air is so clear and sweet here."
She swept her hands wide, and he looked with her over green hills dusted with yellow and white mountain wildflowers. Below, he saw Dulsie Castle, its square stone tower nestled on the green fairy hill, the long slope of the mountain at its back carpeted with tree cover.
He looked down the hill on which he and Elspeth sat, and saw five plaided Highlanders climbing the long slope toward them. He waved, seated at the edge of the rock. One of them saw him—Ewan, by the gleam of the dark red hair—and waved back. Magnus was there too, his blond braids pale golden ropes. Duncan waved again, and the Frasers stopped, hands on hips, heads tilted back to look up the slope. Elspeth waved now and called out as they came closer.
Kenneth grinned, his dark head a burnished gleam in the sun. Hugh and Callum were with him, running ahead, Magnus and Ewan following as the Frasers headed back toward the castle, satisfied now that Elspeth had been found.
"I came up here to think," she said, watching them go. "My cousins are a noisy lot, singing and dancing until deep in the night."
"You enjoyed the music last night, as I did."
"Ah, but the sound of their ceilidh still rings in my ears. I wanted peace to think," she said, "about brothers. About yours, and mine, and about my cousins."
"Thinking about your half brother as well?"
"Robert is now in that same black cell that held you. What will happen to him?"
"I had a letter recently from Maitland. Robert Gordon's friends on the council are embarrassed about what happened. They are trying to avoid an execution, though many think Robert deserves one. But the matter makes them look like simpletons who lost their senses when Moray and Maitland left town. Robert will probably be exiled as quietly as possible in order to save their dignity. They would like to see the whole matter forgotten." He drew a deep breath and looked out over the bright slopes. "Maitland has asked me to return to Edinburgh. There are some cases he would like me to take on."
Elspeth glanced at him quickly. "Will you go?"
He did not look at her. His gaze scanned the green hills, the blue sky, the lavender shoulders of the mountains far beyond. A pair of golden eagles swooped down from the mountain just behind them, gliding together toward a sparkling blue loch far in the distance. He watched them for a long time before he answered.
"This morning I wrote my reply," he said. "Tomorrow I will send my gillie to run it south to Edinburgh. " He looked at her then. "My place is here. My heart is here, where you are now."
She let out a breath, a sigh of relief, he thought. She leaned into him, pressing her arm to his, and the warmth of her body flowed through him.
"You belong here. It is a good place to be," she said. "Duncan, I was also thinking about the fact that you lost four brothers and a father, and yet have gained my cousins, who now consider you like a brother to them."
"Aye," he said gruffly.
"And I was thinking that my cousins are better than brothers to me. I have gained you as well. There are so many men in my life," she added earnestly. "Fine, strong, brave men. I love them all so much. We will have sons, Duncan," she said then, an eagerness brightening her voice. "Four at least, I feel, and one daughter."
He lifted a brow. "A lot of names to choose."
"One at a time. We could name the lads for your brothers," she said.
"Iain, Gillean, Lachlann and Conor," he murmured.
"Wonderful names!" She laughed, the sound soothing his heart.
"And the girl?"
"Mary, of course," she said.
"For Mairi?"
"For Mary the Queen." Elspeth's smile left her face, and her eyes went deep in color. "We will name her for a woman whose courage and beauty will be a legend in some future time. And our wee girl will find her own courage somewhere in her life." She glanced away. Duncan saw the gleam of tears in her eyes as she went silent. He reached over and touched her arm.
"Come, girl," he said. "My grandmother is asking where you have gone. She sent us all out to find you. We had best go back."
"Innis will understand that I had to get away. Besides, she has little time to worry about me, with all the visitors Magnus and Kirsty brought back with them from Glenran."
Duncan laughed in agreement. "It seems as if Castle Glenran has moved to Dulsie."
"Everyone did come along. And Flora has promised to stay as long as I need her, to be here for the birth and beyond. Will Innis mind that, do you think?"
"Of course not." Duncan smiled. "She thrives on a household full of people. And she is completely enchanted by Eiric. The child loves her too, very much."
"I am so glad of it. Eiric has a warm little heart, and gives her love and devotion so freely. And she is happy to have little cousins to play with now. She needs playmates."
"She will have more when you and Kirsty give birth, with hers due just after our own."
"I had a dream last night, Duncan." She took his hand.
"Not ravens, I hope. My grandmother had that odd dream about a raven that wished to have me for its master, whatever that means."
"It means death, my love, did you not know? And I think her dream was saying that you would conquer death—and so you did."
He gave her a doubtful glance. "Well, I avoided it at least. What was your dream?"
"I dreamed that Kirsty gave birth to twin girls, blond like Magnus. And in the dream they grew older and chased our sons up and down the mountain slopes. And our oldest son was there, and he laughed as he climbed."
Duncan turned her hand in his, twining her fingers in his own. "Now that dream I will believe."
"We saw our boy climbing here once. And he will be with us soon—but not too soon. He likes to take his time, this one. He is like his father. Magnus and Kirsty's girls are impatient little ones and will be here before our son arrives."
"Is it so?" Duncan nodded. "And if our little one has patience from me, what does he have from his mother? Perhaps her gift of song," he mused. "Or so we may hope."
He stood then, helping her up. Pulling her back against his chest, he wrapped his arms around the bulk of her middle. Something stirred beneath his hands, and he smiled into her hair, resting his cheek on her head.
"Not so long ago," he said, "I thought I would never be happy at Dulsie again," he said. "But now I am grateful for so much."
Elspeth laid her hands over his, over the mound of their child nurtured within. She smiled. "Ah, but have you not heard the legend? Long ago, a fairy cast a spell in the form of a silver net, ensuring that the lairds of Dulsie will always return. You could not have stayed away from here all your life. That legend brought you home safely, Duncan Macrae."
"It did. Or was it my own fairy wife who brought me here again?"
She stepped away from him, taking his hand to draw him with her down the slope. "That fairy wife only said your doom now
and then."
"Laid curses on me right and left, she did."
"At first." She glanced back over her shoulder and her eyes were the color of rain, her hair a rich sheen. She seemed to glimmer in the sunlight, filled with radiant strength and life.
Duncan paused and drew her to him, taking her into the circle of his arms. "Come here," he said. "You are more beautiful than any fairy."
She laughed, placing a finger gently to his lips. "Hush, you. The fairies may be listening."
"Let them," he murmured. "They will learn something about happiness." He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her, the fullness and depth of the kiss taking his breath.
The whirlpool spun, and he went with it. The laird of Dulsie was home at last.
The End
Author's Note
Each chapter in this novel is headed by a verse from an old Scottish song specifically chosen to complement the story. Most of the verses date to, or just before, the sixteenth century. A few are a bit later. While reading through collections of these wonderful old lyrics, like Francis James Child's English and Scottish Ballads, I could not always resist their poetry or meaning on the basis of date.
Sixteenth-century Highlanders spoke Gaelic almost exclusively, and the Loch Ness area was no exception. I wanted to create the cadence and sense of that language in the story's dialogue rather than use Scots English for all Scottish characters, which would simply have been inaccurate. Gaelic, still spoken today in the most remote areas of Scotland, is a poetic, breathy, complex language, and I wanted to honor that in the phrasing and rhythms of speech.
Lowlanders, then as now, spoke Scots English. This is not considered to be a dialect of English, but a form of that language in and of itself. In consideration for the reader, the Lowlanders in the novel speak a conservative version. Anyone interested in pure Scots English as used in fiction may wish to read works by Robert Louis Stevenson, and several modern Scottish writers as well.
Whenever possible, I wanted to remain true to Gaelic and Scottish traditions. But when it came to names, I often assigned English rather than Gaelic names to characters: Elspeth, Duncan, Kenneth, Ewan, and Hugh seem are more agreeable, if less authentic, over a few hundred pages, than Ealasaid, Donnochadh, Coinneach, Eobhann, and Uisdean.
No matter the language, I hope you found The Raven's Wish more than agreeable!
Happy Reading,
Susan
Page forward to read an excerpt from THE BLACK THORNE'S ROSE – The Special Author's Cut Edition.
Excerpt from
The Black Thorne's Rose
Special Author's Cut Edition
by
Susan King
© 1994, 2011 by Susan King
Susan King's first novel, The Black Thorne's Rose, is now available in a fresh, exciting new edition:
The Special Author's Cut
– available exclusively in e-book format
Praise for The Black Thorne's Rose
"A glorious medieval romance... an exciting talent."
—Romantic Times
~
"Excellent... filled with mythical legends, mystery and mayhem... an extremely powerful story."
—Rendezvous
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"Magnificent. Susan King's talent is a gift from the gods."
— Virginia Henley
~
Praise for Susan King's historical romance novels:
"Susan King is a charmer. She casts spells like a sorceress—her books always enchant."
— Patricia Gaffney
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"Masterful... brilliant... mythically lovely."
— Publishers Weekly
Chapter 1
England
April, 1215
A trick of the wind took her last arrow. Released from the bowstring and caught on a breeze, the shaft traced a high arc and flew past its target. As it disappeared into a stand of leafy trees near the forest path, Emlyn de Ashbourne sighed and shouldered her bow. Drawing her green cloak close against the chill, she pulled up her hood to cover her flaxen braids and set off toward the path.
Several of her practice shots had gone awry today, more from inexperience than breezes. There were only four gray-feathered arrows left in the leather quiver suspended from her belt, of the dozen she had taken with her. She had best retrieve them if she wanted to continue shooting.
Emlyn moved quickly beneath the thick forest canopy, surrounded by the rustle of leaves in the spring air and sunshine. She was glad that she took the risk that day of slipping out to the greenwood after these months of stale confinement.
But in a forest near here, last autumn, her brother Guy, baron of Ashbourne, had been arrested by King John's men. Cautioned by the castle seneschal who feared for their safety, Emlyn and her three younger siblings had not gone beyond the walls of Ashbourne Castle all winter. Even now, no one knew where Guy was kept, or whether he remained alive.
Archery, which her brother Guy had begun to teach her before his capture, had been forgotten until this afternoon. Emlyn had not fared well, her stance and pull stiff, her fingers like wood on the waxed hempen string. Today, with no intention to hunt, she had come here hoping to practice in the open.
Not accurate enough with the short lady's bow to bring down small swift animals or birds—though God knew any game was needed at Ashbourne these days—she nevertheless had been intrigued since childhood by the weapon's graceful speed and the challenging skill it demanded. Target shooting in the bailey always drew Emlyn to loudly cheer the men as they aimed at bales of hay, and at straw effigies dressed to resemble French soldiers or, lately, King John.
Glancing around for her lost arrow as she walked, Emlyn neared the forest path, where the dense tree cover began to thin. Startled by a sudden metallic jingling sound, she quickly hid behind a broad oak, her heart pounding.
"By God's feet and bones!" The angry oath, spoken in a male voice, carried in the clear air. Emlyn set down her bow and cautiously peered out.
A few yards away on the path, a man in full chain mail armor sat upon a large black warhorse, angled away from her. The graceful curves of the man's voluminous blue cloak covered the animal's hindquarters. From the high saddle cantle hung a white shield with a painted design.
While the green and white device of a hawk and a branch was unfamiliar to her, Emlyn knew that such a shield, together with the fine horse trappings, could only belong to a knight of rank. He might be a king's man, she realized. Wat had warned her of such danger in the forest. She ducked out of sight.
The horse slowly circled on the path. Emlyn wondered why the knight seemed wary, his sword drawn and held ready. The forest silence was punctuated by the footfalls of the horse, the jingle of armor, and an occasional burst of curses.
Alarmed, thinking there were others nearby, she was anxious to retreat into deeper cover, and took a step back. Underfoot a dry branch snapped loudly.
Immediately, the knight turned his head and saw her between the trees. He spun the great black stallion and launched forward. "You there! Hold!" he roared.
Emlyn stopped. He reined in the huge horse at the path edge, a few paces in front of her. She looked up at the destrier's great dark head, then across the expanse of its powerful chest and shoulders, to the long mail-encased leg of the knight.
And saw her missing arrow protruding from his thigh.
She stared at the quivering shaft as it stuck out at an awkward angle from his upper leg. Sticky blood had painted a circle of deep carmine around the embedded point. Her eyes rose in slow agony to the knight's face.
Beneath dark, straight brows, his eyes blazed with the same steely glint as his armor. "Come out of the wood," he ordered, his deep voice reverberating in the crisp air.
Emlyn stared at the arrow in a panicked haze. Taking a breath, she stepped toward the horse, her heart racing. The knight towered above her as she stood there.
He shoved his sword back into its scabbard. "Maiden, I must remove this bol
t from my leg. I will require your aid."
Aid, not reprimand? She looked up in surprise. Framed by his chain mail hood, his features were well shaped, though grim and hard beneath dark stubble. He lifted a brow expectantly.
"Aye," she said, "but I cannot reach it from down here."
"My armor is heavy," he replied sternly. "If I dismount I will not easily get up again with an injured leg. Remove the weapon you shall, girl, and now." He pointed to a wide tree stump. "Stand over there."
Emlyn obeyed, wondering if everyone did this man's bidding due to his manner. But it was true she had just shot him. She stood on the stump and waited as he guided the horse closer.
"Take hold of the arrow," he directed, and she curled her fingers around the shaft. Removing his gauntlet, he slid his hand beneath hers to press down on his leg. His touch was cool against her skin. "When I say, you shall pull fast and hard."
"But, I—" she faltered, biting her lip.
"I would have to do it myself, were you not here."
Nodding, she tightened her grip and heard the knight inhale, ready. She glanced up to find him watching her, a keen sharp light in his gray eyes.
"Pull!" he commanded. She did so, mightily. His long exhalation suppressed a groan as the arrowhead ripped backward through the fleshy hole it had made. Warm blood flowed.
Emlyn saw then that the wide point would not come through the chain mail and the legging cloth as easily as it had gone in. She carefully worked the barb free from the net of metal rings, aware of the knight's grim silence.
When she drew the arrow completely out, she pressed the heel of her hand against fresh bleeding with a linen square taken from inside her sleeve. Then the knight took it and began to staunch the flow himself. He frowned, his eyelashes sooty crescents, his lips tight with pain.
