Sarah Gabriel - Keeping Kate

by Keeping Kate (lit)

  volley of strikes. The other man stumbled suddenly and turned, whirling so fast that Alec had no choice but to dance to the side—and the movement brought both of them perilously close to the outer wall that flanked the esplanade, with the castle looming to one side and the city sloping away to the other, and not an arm's reach away, a straight drop down a sheer cliff to sloping ground hundreds of feet below.

  Beyond Grant's shoulder, Alec saw Kate move with the soldiers who watched them, all of them helpless to stop the lethal sword fight in progress. He shifted and sidestepped, his shoe heels scraping the base of the wall, the wind brisking fresh and cold over the side, whipping his hair across his eyes as it sifted loose of the ribbon that held it back. The wall's sloping base threw him off balance and off guard, and in its curving course along the top of the hill, it was scarcely waist high in this area. As he tried to put a little distance between him and the stone wall and the expanse of air and dis­tance beyond it, Grant advanced again.

  This time the tip of his blade caught Alec's injured arm, ripping through bandages, slicing along the wound. Agony seared through him, and for a moment Alec saw the world go gray, but he kept to his feet, ig­nored the drip of blood along his sleeve, and whirled.

  And she was there, like a sunbeam beside him, her back to the wall, her back to the setting sun. When she had stepped forward into the path of danger, Alec had no idea, but he could not look her way—could not, though he felt the lure of it.

  "Sten back." he hissed over his shoulder. "Get awav!"

  But she did not. Nor did she need to—for Grant sud­denly slowed, and gaped at her, and a look came over his face of such wonderment, such bewilderment, that he faltered for a moment.

  In that instant, Alec thrust again. Grant recovered, but now it was Grant who watched Kate with a dis­tracted fascination—Grant who kept glancing her way, who could no longer maintain his focus. Alec advanced again, and turned, and Kate turned with them, circling outside them, several feet away and out of harm's way. But she was incandescent in the setting sun, her hair like a halo about her, and Alec saw it then—the glam-ourie over her like a glow about her.

  But he did not falter this time, was not distracted. In some way, he felt strengthened suddenly, the pain in his arm dissolving, his strength reviving. She was there like a comrade at his back, in her way, her magical way, and he felt strangely as if he, too, were somehow part of that magic, as if he, too, had a touch of the glamourie.

  For Grant now stared at both of them, from one to the other, as if stunned. Then a wild and stormy look passed over his face, and he lunged at Alec, sword flashing in the setting sun.

  And Alec leaned back as the blade went past his chest and struck out into sunlight. Grant stumbled for­ward with his own momentum, and tipped over the waist-high wall.

  Alec lashed out his left arm to catch the man, grab­bing the tail of his coat, leaning forward himself with the effort. His sword clattered to the cobblestones and

  he snatched with his right hand as well, pulling back with all his strength, knees pressed against the stone wall, his shoulders tipping over the edge with the man who dangled, shrieking now, over the side.

  Alec felt Kate's arms close about him, felt her pull back. And he soon felt the strength of two soldiers who came forward with her to grab his arm, grab his coat and waist, pulling backward with him. But the weight of the man dangling from his hands was too great—far too great, and the tail of woolen cloth in his fingers slipped, rasping over his skin as it tore, and the man fell all too silently.

  Pounding a fist on stone in desperate frustration, in a genuine torrent of regret, Alec pushed away from the wall and spun, sinking down, his back to stone, his limbs shaking.

  Kate dropped beside him in a pool of skirts, looping her arms around him, sobbing out, her breath as ragged as his own.

  "Oh, God, Alec," she whispered in a torn voice. "Oh, God, I thought you were gone—I thought you were gone—and you're safe." She gasped and buried her head against him.

  He drew her into the circle of his right arm, his left dripping blood from the opened wound, and he pressed his face to hers, his breath heaving for a moment, aware that more and more soldiers were gathering around them and unable to do anything about that now.

  They would be caught now, he realized—there would be no getting away, for surely the guards knew

  by now that three Highlanders were gone from their cell, and the two who had been at the center of the es­cape sat here, breathless, trapped.

  "Go," he urged her in a whisper, pushing her away. "Get out of here—go!" But she clung to him, shaking her head. "Kate, I love you—dear God, I love you," he murmured into her hair. "Get up and run out of here, and lose yourself in the closes and side streets. Make your way to my uncle's shop."

  She shook her head. "I cannot leave you—"

  "Sir," a man's voice said, and Alec looked up, his arm around Kate. "Captain, sir, some prisoners have es­caped. Would you know anything about that?"

  "Prisoners?" Alec saw the sentry staring down at him. They all gazed down at him, their expressions accusing.

  "They had nothing to do with this, Lieutenant," a man said, stepping forward. Startled, Alec recognized the corporal and the sergeant from the dungeon. "These two had nothing to do with it."

  "But you said—"

  "Aye, there was a man dressed in military gear, and a lady with him—so beautiful, that lady. But not this lady," the corporal murmured. "Not this one."

  He stepped forward and offered his gloved hand. Kate took it and rose to her feet, staring up at the young man.

  The sergeant helped Alec to his feet, and both sol­diers looked at Kate.

  "No, not this one," the sergeant said quietly. "The other was not nearly so beautiful as this lady." He smiled a little, almost sadlv.

  Kate reached out and touched his arm in silence, then did the same to the corporal. They nodded to her discreetly.

  "They got away, whoever they were," the corporal said to the lieutenant, and the rest of them gathered there. "These two were merely caught in the middle of whatever happened here. Poor soul," he added, glanc­ing over the wall.

  "Captain, I apologize," the lieutenant said. "We'll need to call a physician for you."

  "I'm fine," he said. "I'm fine."

  Kate took his arm. "I'll just take my husband home now, sirs. I thank you." She smiled at all of them, look­ing round her in a circle. And every man there, Alec saw, smiled back at her, knowing and affectionate and flattered, as if she had smiled at him, and him alone.

  "Come ahead," Alec murmured, taking her arm to hasten with her toward the gate. "I'd better get you out of here before you have every soldier in Edinburgh at your feet."

  She slipped her arm around his waist as they went. "There is only one soldier in Edinburgh I want," she said. "Only one."

  He said nothing, though he felt the heat and glow of that within, until they were through the castle gates and outside in the cool blue shadows of the buildings at the top of the hill.

  Drawing her into the shadows, he put an arm around her and kissed her, held her hard against him and felt her arms in an endless circle round his neck, felt him­self whirl into the maeic of that kiss, and into the mira-

  cle that had come to him—a string of miracles like a sil­ver chain, and she was the crystal at the heart of it all.

  "I love you, Katie-Katherine," he whispered, kissing her mouth again, tracing his lips along her cheek. "You've thrown your glamourie about me, and I never want to come out of it."

  "Oh, but you've thrown the magic around me," she said. "And I think you did not even know you could."

  "We'll have to stay in it forever, then, admiring one another's gifts," he murmured, and she laughed and pressed herslf deep into his arms.

  "You will have to come out of it now and then," she whispered.

  "Why? There's no reason that I can think of." He had her laughing now, a silvery chiming laugh that he loved, a healing so
und for him.

  "You'll have to come out of it and order me a sedan chair," she said. "I rather liked it."

  "Aha," he said. "I always thought you were a bit spoiled, my darling." He set an arm about her shoulders and looked along the street. "Here comes one now."

  "We'll need two—you're injured." She stepped for­ward with him and put up her arm, and another sedan chair appeared around a corner, as if by magic.

  He laughed. He could not help it. "I truly love you," he whispered, and she made a little sound, her face pressed to his, like a sigh of joy. "And the sooner we are alone, my darling Kate," he murmured, kissing her cheek, "the sooner I can show you just how much."

  She laughed sweetly, and when she drew away to smile un at him. Alec saw a soft elow all around her like

  a lanternlight, and knew it was the glamourie, the Fairy's Gift within her.

  And he knew that he would see that luminosity around her every day for the rest of his life—not always with his eyes, perhaps, but forever with his heart.

  February 1729

  A

  s he entered Hopefield House from the court­yard, Alec heard a series of crashes and muffled shrieks so frantic that his heart slammed. Breaking into a run, he made his way along the corridor in the direc­tion of the screams, shoving his way through the door that led through a pantry, where cupboard doors stood open, stacks of china and glasses evident as he went past—someone's work interrupted, he saw, for dishes were being sorted in preparation for the wedding scheduled for that evening.

  Where were the kitchen servants—and who the devil was screamine? He nounded onward, shovine throueh

  another door. Lily, he thought—surely that was Lily. And Daisy was crying—

  In his haste, he knocked over a stack of porcelain, hearing it shatter on the floor behind him. The shrieks continued—that next came from Rosie, he realized. He pushed through the half-open kitchen door and pounded into the kitchen, kilt flying, heart slamming.

  And he stopped short, glancing about, as loud shrieks echoed off the arched stone ceiling of the old kitchen, and the sweet, rich scent filled his nostrils—

  Chocolate was everywhere: puddling on the stone floor, splattered on the scrubbed oak table, soaking into the bricks of the hearth; it had bubbled and dripped over the sides of two black kettles placed on the table. The smell was divine, and he saw no immediate harm to anyone.

  Turning, he saw them: three chocolate-smeared little females peeking out from behind the largest of the stout oak tables in the kitchen. His nieces were shriek­ing, most definitely, but with laughter.

  They were nearly coated in chocolate, their little hands and faces smeared, their ruffled gowns of creamy pastels smudged, their hair tousled and sticky with the stuff. Seeing him, Rosie and Lily lifted up their hands, waved, wiggled, jumped up and down. Daisy was too intent on crawling away from Kate even to look toward her adored uncle.

  Crouched in their midst, Kate glanced at Alec over her shoulder, a cloth wadded in her hand. She turned her attention to her task: holding Daisy's skirts with one hand, she wined at the dark mess on Lilv's face

  with the other. The youngest, on hands and knees, challenged Kate's effort to hold on, for Daisy was intent on stretching out her arm to dip her fingers into a sticky puddle of chocolate on the floor, squealing in frustra­tion.

  "Ach, my wee cabbage, you will not be doing that," Kate said, dragging the child toward her by the tail of her dress. "Alec—help me," she implored over her shoulder.

  "Uncle Alec, look!" Rosie, the quiet, serious, dark-haired image of Amy, was grinning from ear to ear.

  Alec stopped, arms folded, and watched them, tak­ing it all in. They were safe, they were unharmed, they were lovely, despite being dunked in chocolate, and all of them were so very dear to his heart that he felt the wonderful ache of it bloom in his chest. He laughed.

  "You're by far the sweetest sight I've ever seen, all of you," he said.

  "Now that is helpful," Kate said, laughing.

  "Look, Uncle Alec!" Rosie was jumping up and down now and pointing to the oaken table, where Alec noticed countless blobs, drips, and a lacy web of choco­late adhering to the surface and dripping over the edge.

  "Alec, take her!" Kate said as she pulled on Daisy's dress while kneeling in chocolate herself, so that it stained the front of her gown of pale blue satin. She had sticky fingerprints on her sleeves, her fingers were smeared, and she had traces of kisses on her cheeks. "Tcha," she went on to Rosie, who was still giggling, "however did you three do this?"

  "We made the eatine chocolate for vour weddine."

  Lily said, between swipes of the cloth, as Kate scrubbed her face.

  "Eating chocolate?" Alec said, coming forward to scoop Daisy up under one arm. She giggled and squirmed, wrapped her legs over his hip, and left delicious-smelling smears on his snowy linen sleeve. She lifted her face and pursed her lips.

  "Kiss," she said.

  He kissed her cheek obediently and felt her sticky mouth on his chin. "Sweet wee Daisy," he said, laughing.

  "She's not sweet, she's wicked naughty," Rosie said.

  "Rosie," Kate admonished. "Daisy could not have done all this by herself."

  "She spilled the pot," Lily pointed out logically. "We were trying to do our work, but wee Daisy spilled it all over the table and on the floor."

  "So then you decided to paint yourselves in it?" Alec knelt, Daisy still clutching him, and offered the sleeve of his free arm—the fine lawn was ruined already—to Rosie, so that she could wipe her hands clean.

  "We were making wedding chocolates, but Daisy ru­ined that, too," Rosie said.

  "Wedding chocolates?" Kate looked at Alec. "Uncle Walter had been in here earlier making up a batch of something special for the wedding supper."

  "Aye, he mentioned that when I just saw him in the shop," Alec said, "but where is Aunt Effie? And where is Cook? And who the devil was watching the bairns?"

  "I was watching the bairns," Rosie said. "Aunt Effie said she must nap with the headache, and told us to go to Kate, but Katie was trvine on her eown with Ladv

  Kinnoull—I mean Aunt Sophie because she says we are to call her that—but she was holding wee Duncan, who was crying again," she went on breathlessly, "and I said I could watch the bairns myself."

  "I doubt you were supposed to watch your sisters in the kitchen," Alec drawled. "Or watch them muck about in chocolate."

  "We wanted to surprise you," Lily said plaintively.

  "Aye well, this is a surprise," Alec admitted.

  "I came downstairs when I saw that Effie was resting alone and the lasses were nowhere to be seen," Kate ex­plained, letting Lily go and turning to wipe Rosie's face with the damp cloth. "But where is Cook and the kitchen girl?" she asked Rosie.

  "They went to the greengrocer's in the Grassmar-ket," Rosie said, her words muffled by the scrubbing cloth. "They couldna find a caddie out on the street to fetch something for them at the market, and the stable groom went wi' Uncle Jack to fetch our guests from the inns." He knew she referred to Kate's kinfolk and friends, who had come to Edinburgh for their wedding in this new year, staying discreetly at inns in the city that catered to Jacobites. Kinnoull had brought Sophie earlier in the day and gone with Jack to ferry Duncrieff, the other MacCarrans, the Murrays, and MacPhersons to Hopefield House for the wedding itself, and a night of celebration.

  "And Cook said there werena enough turnips for the 'neeps for the wedding supper, and they wanted more currants for another pudding, and they would be

  back at half past the hour. Is it that time yet?" Lily peered at Alec.

  "Not quite," he said. "You mean you managed all this in about fifteen minutes?"

  "Or less." Kate stood, leaning toward Alec and Daisy to use a fresh corner of her cloth to clean Daisy's round cheeks and tiny fingers.

  "Kiss," Daisy said, pursing her lips again. Kate kissed her, then resumed wiping smudges off the child's forehead.

  Seeing chocola
te smeared on Kate's chin, Alec reached out and wiped his thumb in sensual, gentle cir­cles over her creamy, translucent skin. She glanced up at him, her gaze smoky and deep.

  "Kiss," he murmured, leaning down.

  She tilted her face, and he cupped her head in his hand, fingers sliding into the silky golden thickness of her hair. Touching his lips to hers, he kissed her, drank in the transcendent sweetness of it, moving his mouth over hers and feeling her lips caress his. He closed his eyes, renewed it, and she made a little mewling sound under his mouth that made his heart and body leap, unbidden and eager.

  "Later," he whispered.

  "Uncle!" Lily tugged on his kilt, and he looked down, his hand still cupping the back of Kate's head. "Come see what we made for you," she said, dragging on his kilt to bring him with her. Alec followed her to the central table in the big kitchen.

  Half the table was littered with bowls of chopped fruits, smooth brown hen's eggs, cold porridge, cur­rants, and spices, and pitchers of milk and cream to be used for pudding desserts to be prepared that after­noon. There were bowls, too, of creams and puddings. He recognized a lemon pudding by its scent and ap­pearance, though it was slopped over the bowl, a spoon halfway sunk in its depths.

  He was vastly relieved to see that the knives were tucked neatly away in a box, with nothing left out that would be dangerous for little girls. In the deep oven, roasted mutton and birds were tucked to keep warm, and a steaming kettle of soup was ratcheted too high for little hands to reach.

  But his heart quailed at the thought of what could have happened. "They cannot be left alone," he told Kate.

  "I know that," she said snappishly. "I thought Effie was watching them, while Sophie and I were fixing my gown. Her wee son was fussy, being but three weeks old, so we were distracted."

  "I know you would have gone to look for the lasses if you even thought they were on their own," he said. "Perhaps they should not be left with Effie all the time. She may be getting a little old to watch them every day."

  Kate tipped her head. "We could take them into our home," she murmured. "You are their guardian, after all. We are going to Kilburnie House after the wedding, and we'll see your other kin there. And after that, if winter weather allows, we'll be going to Duncrieff for our wedding there. I want to be married in the tiny chapel in the hills there, according to ancient MacCar-ran tradition."