Susan King - [Celtic Nights 02]

by The Swan Maiden

  "Tell us again how the swans came to Loch nan Eala," Ailis, the oldest girl, said. Seona, her little sister, nodded.

  Juliana resettled the little boy in her lap. "Long ago in the misty time," she began, "a beautiful maiden, lovely as a white swan, lived in a fortress on an island in the loch. She loved a warrior who was as dark as a raven, handsome, and strong..."

  In simple Gaelic, she told them of the lovers, and the plans for their wedding; of the Druid who summoned magic to destroy them; of the faery bolt he shot into the clouds to raise a storm. She described the shattering and sinking of the island fortress, and how everyone inside had drowned in the deep waters.

  The four children listened intently, the little one staring at her in fascination, his blue eyes wide.

  Gawain listened too, his back to her, his hands folded, the wind pushing against him as he stood overlooking the loch.

  "The Druid discovered that his magic had failed," she went on. "He had not destroyed the two lovers, for they were transformed into swans. The warrior and his maiden would be together always, in that form."

  "Sometimes the maiden swan comes out of the water, and leaves her swan skin on the shore," Ailis added. "She meets her warrior, who leaves his swan skin there as well."

  "Sometimes," Juliana agreed. "Most of the time she stays with him on the loch. There, they are protected. There, they are happy, in a world of their own—"

  She caught her breath, thinking of the similar haven that she and Gawain had found in their bed, behind a curtain of protection.

  "Can the swan spell over the loch ever be broken?" Ailis asked. "Will they ever be free?"

  "There is a way," Juliana said. "But I have forgotten. It has been a long while since I told this story—"

  "Only a warrior whose heart is true, and who feels a love like theirs, can free them," Gawain said softly, in English.

  She stared at him. He glanced at her over his shoulder.

  "Tell them," he said. "A warrior who knows true love can free then. He must catch a faery bolt and fling it into the loch. 'Tis the only way to break the spell that holds the fortress, the warrior, the lady, and the swans."

  "How—how do you know that?" she murmured.

  He turned away. "I have heard the tale before. Tell them."

  She told the children, her thoughts tumbling. Ailis sighed, loving the ending, but Gilchrist rolled his eyes.

  "No one can catch a faery bolt," he insisted.

  "Some have tried, their whole lives, to do it." Gawain looked at her, his eyes penetrating. "Just to prove it can be done. Just in case the spell could be broken someday."

  Juliana repeated what he said, though it astonished her. She lifted the smallest child into Gilchrist's arms and ushered them toward the forest path, instructing them to wait for her. Then she walked toward Gawain.

  "Tell me how you knew that," she said. "'Tis a local legend. Few people outside this glen know of it."

  "Someone told me the tale, long ago."

  "'Twas not your nurse," she said.

  "Nay," he said. "Someone else."

  She watched his profile, elegant and spare against the sky. "You have some secrets—and I want to know what they are."

  "What of your secrets?" He slid her a glance. "I came here to ask if you will listen to me—and talk to me."

  "I will tell you all," she said. "But first I must know what you have been keeping from me. If we are ever to be together again, we must have total honesty between us."

  He hesitated, wind whipping at both of them. Then he turned and took her face in his hands. His eyes were deep and steady and warm. And yet she was sure something troubled him deeply.

  He lowered his black-lashed lids, still hiding his secrets. He kissed her, soft and slow, then pulled back.

  "My God," he whispered, "do you know how much I love you? How much I love your honest nature?"

  Her tears welled then, and her lip quivered. He kissed it, his mouth gentle. Her defenses crumbled, and she whimpered a little in relief. Tears slid freely down her cheeks, and he kissed them away before finding her mouth again.

  Like water for deep thirst, after so long without him. She circled her arms around him and accepted his strong, hungry kiss, pressing her body against him.

  "Juliana! Juliana!" The children's voices sliced anxiously through the trees. She broke away from Gawain, and he stepped away quickly, grabbing her bow and quiver and following.

  "What is it?" she called, alarmed.

  "The swans! The swans!" Seona and Ailis cried out.

  "They are hurting the swans!" Gilchrist said, pointing.

  Juliana ran along the path to another vantage point, where the loch, and Elladoune, could be seen clearly.

  Soldiers were on the bank near the castle, with nets and long hooks. Some of them were knee-deep in the water. All around them was a froth of white as the swans struggled. On the shore, a man in black armor watched.

  "What is it?" Gawain said, coming up behind her.

  "The sheriff's men," she said, turning. "They are upping the swans." She whirled and began to run down the path.

  * * *

  Hurrying with the children in their wake, Gawain followed Juliana toward the loch, carrying the smallest boy. He set the child down once they reached the meadow that edged the loch near Elladoune.

  Several knights, the sheriff among them, thundered across the meadow just as Gawain and the others emerged from the forest. They headed in the direction of Dalbrae. Secured in baskets on three packhorses, several white swans struggled, netted and tied.

  Juliana ran toward the loch and stopped. The summer wind dragged her pale tunic against her legs, whipped out her hair. Gawain strode quickly to stand beside her.

  From Elladoune's entrance, he heard shouts. The MacDuffs came through the gate, waving and running. The children crossed the meadow to meet their kinfolk.

  Juliana bent to retrieve a few white feathers that lay on the pebbles at her feet, close to the waterline. She cupped them in one hand and stood again to look at the loch.

  Out on the water, several swans circled, still agitated, their necks attended, their wings busked in white arcs. A pair of females curved their heads to nudge at their offspring, while Fionn, one of the larger males, patrolled the outer cluster, gliding in a wide circle.

  Cuchulainn was in a fury, driving across the water, wings out, broad chest lifted. He charged a group of hapless geese, who swam out of his way, then turned and approached a flock of mallards, who skimmed away as well. Then he streamed in an orbit around the other swans, neck curved, head erect, wings slightly lifted, a proud, angry guardian.

  "They took Eimhir alainn," Juliana said. "She is gone. Cuchulainn is in a rage. And his territory has been invaded."

  "Who else is gone, can you tell?" Gawain asked.

  She shaded her eyes, her fingers trembling. He wanted to put an arm around her, but hesitated. She stood strong and firm beside him, her voice calm, head lifted, back straight. She would not welcome sympathy now.

  "Some of the older cygnets are missing," she said. "Three with feathers that are mostly white, with a little of the infant gray left. One is a female with no mate—a maiden swan," she said, glancing at him. "I called her Etain, after—"

  "After the princess who was wooed and lost by the king of the faeries, and transformed by magic into many creatures, including a butterfly," Gawain said. "Yet her lover found her, finally, Mid took her home." The story had bubbled up in his memory without effort.

  Her shading hand hid her expression. "You know that one, too," she said softly. "Who are you, Gawain Avenel?"

  "Later," he murmured. "Four or five swans have been taken?"

  "More," she said. "Where are Guinevere and her babies?"

  He frowned, scanning the loch, unable to find the elegant pen and her small cygnets. At the sound of voices, Gawain turned to see the Highlanders from Elladoune—mostly MacDuffs—hurrying toward them. Laurie and Eonan were in their midst.

 
Uilleam was shouting and pointing, and Teig lumbered past him, waving his arms anxiously. Juliana ran to meet them, listened, then returned to Gawain.

  "Guinevere!" she said. "They saw her from the wallwalk—she is in the cove! Something is wrong!" She ran with the others.

  Passing them all with a long running stride, Gawain was soon joined by Laurie and Juliana. They crossed through the trees to emerge on the narrow shore of the cove.

  Guinevere swam in anxious circles, wings busked, neck stiffened. Cuchulainn joined her, rushing back and forth in the water as if pacing. When Gawain and the others appeared on the shore, the birds swam toward them, hissing in clear distress.

  "Where are her babies?" Juliana asked. She stepped into the water, her gown floating around her as she surged toward the swan. Breast-high in the water, she turned.

  "There!" she called, pointing toward the end of the cove. "One of them is caught—there!" She swam with fast strokes, the swan floating alongside of her.

  Gawain ran on land, followed by Laurie and the rest, to the end of the cove's arm. Inside a bed of tall reeds, green tipped in gold, he saw some debris and recognized it as netting.

  Caught in the tangle of rope, a small gray-brown cygnet splashed, flapping its wings, opening its beak. The infant's gurgle of distress seized him in the region of his stomach.

  The cygnet strained, rising and sinking, water sloshing deeper over its back, struggles that could drown it. Nearby, Guinevere circled in obvious distress. At the edge of the reeds, her other cygnets swam safely.

  Juliana pushed through the reeds, gown swirling, until she stood breast-high beside the little bird. Gawain saw her reach out to examine the agitated cygnet.

  She drew a breath and sank under the water, then rose up, water streaming from her hair. "His legs are caught!" she called. "There is a trap here—a net!"

  While she pulled frantically at the net, Gawain paced on the shore. After a few moments he could stand it no longer. He kicked off his boots and dropped his belt, then stepped into the loch himself, surging through cool water to reach the reed bed.

  She stood shoulder-deep in the water. "Gawain!" she gasped. "'Tis such a tangle—help me!"

  He stood with her, feet in the mucky bottom, and began to work at the knots. The rope was wadded around the cygnet's legs and webbed feet. He and Juliana struggled together with the tangle. Once he drew breath and went under to budge a stubborn snarl. Surging up again, he stood beside her.

  The water seemed to be getting deeper. The level had at first been at his waist, and now was at his chest. He realized that he was sinking in the soft silt at the bottom of the reed bed. Juliana's shoulders were submerged. She looked at him, her eyes wide with alarm.

  "We will get the little one free," Gawain reassured her. "And we will get out of here—quickly." She held the cygnet securely while he pulled at the wet, interlaced rope until finally a loop slipped free and the knot loosened considerably.

  Juliana released the little bird, and it scrambled away, swimming toward its mother. Guinevere swept her long, elegant neck down and pushed at him with her beak. Then she sank her tail until he clambered onto her back along with his three siblings. She glided out of the reeds toward Cuchulainn.

  Juliana smiled up at Gawain. He laughed and pulled her into a wet, mucky embrace, recalling another time when he had hidden among the reeds with her, on the night Elladoune had burned.

  "Come, my love," he murmured. "Out of the water." He drew her along with him.

  But the silt sucked at his feet, drawing him deeper. Juliana gasped and grabbed his waist, sputtering, her shoulders well covered, the water lapping at her throat.

  "Gawain!" someone called. He looked toward the shore. Laurie stepped into the water, followed by Eonan, and came toward him, reaching out. Moments later, Uilleam, Beithag, Teig, and the MacDuffs, who had watched the rescue from the shore, lined up behind them.

  Laurie stretched out his big hands to grasp Gawain's arm. Behind him, Eonan grabbed Laurie's belt, and Beithag took Eonan's, and Uilleam took his wife by the waist. Each grasped another until the last person—Teig, with his solid strength and great heart—pulled on Uilleam's belt and stepped backward.

  Embracing Juliana, Gawain felt himself move slowly out of the muck and toward the shore. He looked back in wonder at the living chain that connected them to the shore of Elladoune.

  * * *

  Wet and joyful, Juliana wrapped her arm around Gawain as they walked with the others toward Elladoune. She laughed at some remark Laurie made, delighting in the feel of her husband's arm around her shoulders. Although her wet tunic slapped cold against her legs, the grass beneath her bare feet felt warm and smelled fresh in the sunlight. She felt healed and renewed.

  Whatever Gawain's secrets, and hers, she hoped now that peace would prevail. He had come for her, and they had worked together to save the cygnet. Surely he would stay with her and they would resolve their differences.

  She smiled up at him, but he slowed beside her, looking up, and stopped. His arm tensed and dropped away. She glanced toward the castle.

  De Soulis and some of his knights waited on horseback at the top of the hill outside the gate. Dressed in his black armor, the sheriff watched them. He beckoned to Gawain. With a wave of his hand, he sent one of his guards riding toward them.

  Gawain looked down at her. "Go to the abbey," he growled low. "Take the others and go."

  Heart pounding, she turned her back so that De Soulis would not see her speaking to Gawain. "What does he want? Are we to be expelled from the castle now?"

  "I will wager he is displeased to see me consorting with the locals, and means to speak to me about it," he said. "Let me deal with this alone. The... closing of the castle is to be done later. I have been instructed to send you all away. 'Tis part of what I wanted to explain to you—"

  "Gawain, how can you allow this to happen—"

  "Go to the abbey. Now. Let me speak with him. Hurry."

  "Why?" she hissed, furious. "So you can give him more of our secrets? Another piece of our life to take away?"

  "Go," he said sternly, "before he decides to take you again. I will come for you at the abbey."

  "If you mean to follow your king's orders," she said angrily, "do not ever come for me!" Sobbing out, she whirled and ran across the meadow, past the people who already walked toward the abbey.

  Chapter 29

  Feet planted firmly, Juliana raised the bow and drew the string taut. Balancing the arrow shaft, she grew still, intent on the upright wand over a hundred paces away. She ignored the noise of the crowd behind her. Wisecracking and impatient, they urged her—or rather, the hooded, cloaked youth she pretended to be—to take the shot, since others waited their turn.

  After a moment, she released the bowstring. Her arrow chipped the wand and sank into the straw target behind it.

  She ignored the applause and turned to face a merchant and a contest judge, who offered her the prize: a tiny silver bell, identical to the four she had already won that day. With a nod, she accepted it and walked away. Bow fisted in her hand, she shouldered her way through the crowd in the market square.

  Brother Eonan and Teig, instructed by the abbot to act as bodyguards, hustled beside her. A crowd of children and youths followed; some were part of the rebel forest band—Mairead's oldest children, Lucas's sons, a few others—and the rest were from the surroundings of the town, located in the triangle of territory between Dalbrae, Inchfillan, and the loch.

  The market area, dominated by an ancient stone cross, was dusty and busy, jammed with people and bright with cloth-draped booths. A variety of goods were offered there—leather, silk, spices, tin, iron, savory foods, cool ale. She looked at none of it as she walked past. The day was ending and the booths would be closing soon; almost everyone would travel to Inchfillan Abbey to watch the final archery competition.

  Earlier in the day, she had won the other contests easily, gaining top placement in each successive round. This las
t win, with its prize of a little bell, entered her in the final contest. That one would award the Golden Arrow of Elladoune.

  Several archers had advanced with her, most of them English bowmen from the garrison at Dalbrae. Only Juliana, so far, had won silver bells for all her shots, awarded for special skill. That had singled her out, although few knew her identity.

  She had bells enough—she had come here for another prize altogether—and she handed this one to Teig. He slid it onto a ribbon around his neck, along with the other silver bells she had collected. He laughed, delighted with their tinkling sound. She smiled at him.

  "Now we can go to Inchfillan," she said to Eonan.

  He extended his arm protectively as several horsemen thundered down the street toward the road that led to Inchfillan Abbey. She saw De Soulis in the lead, with several knights. In their midst, on a creamy palfrey, rode a woman in a red gown. On either side of her were two more guards, each with a boy mounted pillion behind him.

  Alec and Iain. Juliana gasped and stared at the first sight of her brothers in weeks. Disguised and hiding in the crowd, she could say and do nothing to catch their attention.

  The last two riders passed by her: a tall, sandy-haired man on a brown horse, and a lean, dark-haired knight in deep brown surcoat and chain mail. He sat his dark bay horse with agile grace, staring ahead of him.

  As Gawain passed, riding Gringolet, her heart leaped again. She pulled the hood of her dark cloak to shield her face more completely, but he did not seem to glance at her.

  "Come," she told Eonan and Teig. "It is over a league to the abbey. We had best get some ale before we set out on the walk. Do you think they will take one of these little bells in payment for ale?" she asked. Teig protested, and she sighed.

  "I will ask for ale in the name of holy charity," Eonan said, "and we will share whatever they give us. And for love of heaven, let us hurry—you cannot be late. We have much to accomplish today!"

  * * *

  Throughout the day, he thought he saw her in the crowd: a sunlit sheen of hair, a laugh like a trickle of water, a face like an angel. Each time, when he looked, it was not her.