"Wait," Lachlann said. Aleck turned. The dark swirl of his cloak made the sparks fly again in Lachlann's field of sight. "I will walk out with you. I, too, am going home." He turned his cup upside down on the table, a final gesture of his decision. "In the morning I will apply to the king for an audience." He rose to his feet.
Meggott came toward them and took Aleck's coin, dropping it down her bodice. She nestled up to Lachlann as he reached for his own cloak, but he eased her firmly away.
She pouted. "Where are you going?"
He touched her cheek, did his best to smile. "Home. I wish you well." He kissed her like a fond brother. She stared at him, then nodded slowly.
"I knew it would come. You carry your home like a fire in your heart, and so you were bound to go back. Luck to you, then." She turned away with a stiff smile.
He watched her, struck by the truth in her words. Home was indeed a fire in his heart—and home was Eva, for good or ill.
He had to return, no matter what would come of it.
He stepped out into the cold snap of the evening.
Chapter 5
Mist swirled over the water, and the dawn quiet seemed like a blessing. As Eva waited for Alpin on the lochside beach below the smithy property, she shivered in the early chill. Wrapping her arms around herself, she remembered, as she too often did, Lachlann's warm, strong embrace. That long-ago night seemed like a cherished dream that would never come true.
Through the fog, she could see the isle of Innisfarna, with its grove of trees and its massive castle at opposite ends. She had not set foot inside Innisfarna Castle for a long while, and she missed her home so much that it hurt.
Through Mairi MacKerron's generous hospitality, Eva lived in the smith's house now. At night she slept in Lachlann's own bed, curled on his heather-stuffed mattress. Her dreams—poignant sequences of yearning, passion, and gentleness—were filled with him.
Although Eva had cooperated with the garrison that had taken over the castle, remaining in her own home had proved difficult. Acting as chatelaine, she had supervised new and unfamiliar servants to oversee the demands of a huge household, while struggling with her dislike of the situation.
Late one night, after soldiers had knocked and pleaded and snickered at her bedchamber door—not for the first time, despite the garrison leader's sincere attempt to keep her safe—she had packed her belongings, tucked Grainne into a basket, and asked Alpin to take her over the water to seek sanctuary with Mairi MacKerron.
Now her visits to the island were clandestine. Often she met Alpin before dawn; concerned for her safety, he had offered to teach her how to defend herself, and a few instructions had developed into regular lessons in swordplay. Eva looked forward lately to the practice sessions, welcoming the challenges and finding enjoyment and relief from tedium and frustration.
Most mornings, soldiers crossed the loch in two or three boats to tend the horses in the stable and to ride out on patrols to look for rebels—including her brother Simon and their kinsmen. Only Eva and Alpin knew where the MacArthur rebels hid in the hills above the loch, and both of them had been sworn to secrecy.
Hearing the splash of oars, she soon saw the boat glide through the fog. Alpin stilled the craft on the beach so that Eva could climb inside, and then he rowed back toward the island.
"Today," Alpin murmured, "we will work on high strokes. Stay down until we reach the far side of the island so that you will not be seen." Complying, she drew her plaid over her dark, braided hair. For the swording lessons, she usually wore an old belted plaid and shirt borrowed from Mairi's storage chest; she enjoyed the freedom, comfort, and disguise offered by the male garments.
Rounding the island, Alpin drew the boat into a cove fringed by alder and pine trees. Eva leaped out while Alpin secured the rope, and both walked into the cover of the trees. When he handed her a wooden practice sword, taking one into his own hands, she adopted a ready stance and waited for the first strike. She countered it with confidence, earning his murmured praise.
Their practice was demanding as usual, leaving her breathing hard and wiping her misted brow. Soon the sun crested the hills and began to burn off the fog, and she knew the soldiers would venture out of the castle, as was their established habit. Eva followed Alpin to his little house on the banks of the loch below the castle to accept a cup of cool, watered ale and some breakfast.
"I cannot stay long today," she told him. "Margaret and her husband, Angus, have a new child, and I promised to help them this week. Their little girl just turned two, and she does not much like her new brother." She smiled.
He nodded. "I will take you over the water," he said. "But first I want to talk to you. Come into the garden." He opened the door.
Eva walked with him around the house, where rosebushes grew on the grassy shore that sloped toward the loch. She moved toward the lush, lovely tangle of vines and blooms, inhaling the soft fragrances.
The rose garden had belonged to Alpin's wife, who had died a few years earlier. Alpin claimed he had no time to dig up the rosebushes to plant onions and carrots, as he said ought to be done; he complained that he was too busy ferrying soldiers across the loch and could not learn flower gardening.
Yet the roses grew profusely, and Eva suspected Alpin encouraged them. She loved the haven provided by the rose garden, with its graceful shapes, heavenly fragrance, and delicate hues reflected in the calm loch.
"Look at this one," Alpin said, pulling a fat rose toward her. "It opened yesterday."
The large, soft flower filled her palm, colored pale salmon pink. "Alpin, it is beautiful! I have never seen a rose like it! And so late in the season—will there be more like it?" She leaned forward to sniff it.
"How do I know? They grow, and I cut them back, and they grow some more. They are a nuisance." But his gaze when he looked around him was serene.
She smiled. "What did you want to tell me?"
"I heard the soldiers say that Green Colin will soon return from France. They say he intends to petition the king for full ownership of this island. Eva, we must prevent him from taking Innisfarna—even if we cannot prevent him from marrying you."
She felt her heart tumble with dread, and she inhaled the scent of the flower again, as if its sweetness were a remedy. "We are legally betrothed, and that is near as binding as a marriage. I refuse to give up the island, and I told Colin so before he left. If I must appeal to the king myself to retain it, I will. My claim is a hereditary right, with no tie to the MacArthurs. I hope the king will respect such an ancient tradition."
"Not everyone is as honorable as you are, Eva, and we already know how dishonorable our king can be. This isle must remain in your keeping, or there may be dire consequences for all of Scotland, according to the legend. Now that you are no longer living on the isle yourself, your claim is weakened."
She frowned. "I am doing what I think best. Colin sent me a letter last year saying that he had requested the return of my clan's rights and my brother's pardon. He is keeping his promise to me. The pardon may even be accomplished by now." She tried to smile. "We will find out soon."
"Bah. Green Colin serves himself, not you and your clan! You have heard little from him in all this time. Both Simon and I want you to break that betrothal and let the rebels take their chances. Do not sacrifice your happiness."
She shook her head. "I gave my promise in exchange for his help," she murmured. "I will honor it." She had never told anyone about Colin's threat to have Donal killed and Simon hunted down if she did not go through with the marriage. Aware of the risks that her marriage might hold, she still hoped to keep her kinsmen safe. She did not look at Alpin as she fingered the rose petals.
"Tcha," he said. "Stubborn girl. You do not want this. Where is the bold Eva I once knew, eh? What does she want?"
"I want what is best for my clan, and Innisfarna. What more could I want?" Once there had been more, but now her true desires emerged only in dreams, where she shared her misty, lovely is
land home with a dark-haired man who ruled fire and made iron yield to his will, and whose deep, tender embraces made her yearn for far more than dreams. She sighed.
"There is something you can do," Alpin said. "You were named for the valiant and beautiful Aeife, who defended this island long ago. Do what she did. Fight for Innisfarna. I have been training you for it," he added, giving her an odd glance.
Eva stared at him. "Fight? You taught me how to use a weapon to defend myself, but I am no warrior!"
"Listen to me." He pointed to the loch. "The Sword of Light lies in those waters, guarding the doorway to the faery world. Only you and I truly understand its importance. This isle must never leave the safekeeping of Aeife's female line. Look what has happened since the peace of this place was disturbed. Garrisoning, forfeiture—and the loss of twenty Highland chiefs, including your father."
"Alpin, that is not the legend come to bear!"
"Is it not? Legends are powerful mysteries. If Innisfarna is threatened, the Sword of Light is not safe, and neither is Scotland. You must fight, as Aeife did," he urged. "I saw this coming, and so I have prepared you."
She stared at him. "Why did you not tell me this earlier?"
"You would have refused. For all your boldness, you never liked to fight with the boys, nor did you like to hear about that part of your island's legend. But now that you have the skills, we will find the warrior in you," he confided, grinning.
"Alpin, it is just a tale! You cannot expect me—"
"What are legends but pure truths? This one teaches courage and righteousness. We must heed it, or lose all."
"I cannot go against a garrison. I have no army, no weapons—and no desire to fight!"
"Look at this." Alpin pulled the fat pink bloom forward again. "Tell me the secret of the rose."
"The secret?" She frowned, confused.
"It is beautiful. Take it. Go on."
She reached out, wincing as the thorns stung her thumb. She let go, sucking on the wound, watching Alpin.
He nodded. "The rose defends itself, and you will do the same. You are a strong and nimble girl, with a bold heart. Put that to use. You have much potential, and some skill already. And of course you have an excellent tutor." He winked.
She stared at him. "You sly old warrior."
"I am that, Aeife," he said, using the old, breathy pronunciation of her name: Eh-fah.
She regarded him thoughtfully, remembering the stories she had heard of his prowess as a warrior before her birth, before he had become their ferryman. He had instructed her brothers and other boys, including Lachlann, in swordplay, and now she understood the extent of his willingness to teach her. "I will not act out this legend for you," she said firmly.
"We will discuss this later," he said. He plucked two fat pink roses from another bush as he spoke. The thorns did not seem to bother him. "For now, you have enough to think about. Here, take these to Mairi MacKerron. She will like them, even if they come from the old ferryman."
He led her the short way to his boat, and Eva sat clutching the flowers while he rowed her across the dawn-bright water. Her thoughts tumbled and sparked, but she stayed silent, finally stepping out of the boat onto the white beach.
"We will continue to practice on Innisfarna's soil," Alpin told her. "The isle gives you strength and will. Come to the loch at dawn tomorrow, and I will show you how to use a longsword. It is time you fought with steel, not wood."
She regarded him in silence, unsure of her feelings.
"Girl," Alpin said, "you do not feel the urge to fight now, but you will. When Colin tries to take your isle, it will spark in you like fire. I know you, Aeife. You will not hold back your courage when that day comes. You will do what must be done. And I intend to prepare you for it." He pulled at the oars and moved out into the loch.
As she walked up the long bank toward the smith's house, she knew that Alpin was right. She must defend Innisfarna somehow, and so it was fitting that she learn to be a warrior like the valiant and proud Aeife. Though she lacked faery magic and a warrior's heart, someday she might have to fulfill a legend.
And she must find some way to see it through.
Chapter 6
The night sky sparkled under a full moon, and a crisp, cool wind lifted his cloak as he rode home. Through the trees, he saw the glittering dark surface of a loch and recognized the surroundings: Loch Fhionn, at last.
He guided his sturdy garron along a well-worn, well-remembered path. The animal, purchased in Perth, was a capable horse for the westward journey into Argyll. After a full day's ride, Lachlann was deeply tired, but glad to be out in the hills again, after months of living in town.
He had spent the past week pacing in the king's castle, waiting for a royal audience and the official message that he was to carry to the MacArthurs. Bearing the king's letter and forewarned of possible danger in the area from rebels, he wore his steel cuirass—breastplate and backpiece—and carried weapons ready for use. He watched the hills and forest carefully as he rode.
Following the loch's banks, he headed toward the tiny village of Balnagovan, which consisted of a hillside chapel and a few farms. The lands here had been inhabited by MacArthurs, but the clan's proscription would have evicted and exiled most, if not all, of them. He was not surprised to see deserted homes with boarded windows and empty byres.
Further down the length of the loch, he could see the familiar shape of Innisfarna, isle and stout castle rising upward, dark against dark. Light twinkled in the windows, and he wondered if Eva was there now, with her Campbell husband. His heart seemed to turn at the thought.
Soon he approached the smith's house and the smithy. His property was called Balnagovan as well—"village of the smith" in Gaelic. The smithy itself, with its nearby stable, perched on a hill above the loch. Across a wide meadow was the house. Home at last, Lachlann thought with enormous relief, and nudged the horse forward.
The drystone building, long and low with a thatched roof, presented two shuttered windows flanking a stout oak door. A stone-and-wattle byre protruded at the back beside a privy and a large garden. Though all was dark, pale smoke drifted from the central chimney. Lachlann heard a hound begin to bark inside the house.
Solas, he thought, smiling. His foster mother, Mairi MacKerron—Muime, as he always thought of her—would no doubt be awakened by the alarm, and alert to a stranger's arrival.
Dismounting, he tethered his horse, who whickered softly. Faint snorts answered from the stable across the meadow. The horses kept there must belong to those inhabiting Innisfarna. Sooner or later, then, he would see Eva—and her Campbell husband. His gut constricted at the thought.
The barking grew louder, joined by the yapping of a smaller dog. Muime must have acquired another mutt in his absence, Lachlann thought. He knocked on the door and called out.
Both dogs erupted in a frenzy, and a woman's voice, barely audible over the noise, hushed them.
"Mairi MacKerron," he said, "I am home!" He raised his voice, hoping she could hear what he said over the barking.
"Go away," came a muffled reply.
"I am come home," he said. "Let me in." He grabbed the iron latch and pulled, expecting it to open easily.
It stuck. He tugged. The iron must have rusted, lacking a smith to keep it oiled. In the moonlight, he noticed new rivets, marking additional locks on the inside of the door; the door was bolted and barred, though it never had been before.
"Go away," the woman said again.
Puzzled, he knocked again. "Who is that?"
He heard a heavy thump and a creak, as if a dog leaped against the door. Anguished yowls nearly drowned his voice. "Woman, open this door!" He had to shout to be heard.
"Go away, you! Solas, get down! Grainne, you too! Leave us be, sir—the dogs are in a temper! And I have a blade, and I know how to use it!"
"Blade! Jesu," he muttered. "I live here," he yelled, placing his mouth near a seam in the oak planks, raising his voice to a boom. "Open
the door! It is Lachlann!"
A pause followed, as if both woman and dogs were stunned into silence. "Lachlann MacKerron?" Now he heard her clearly: a young woman, her voice mellow as honey, blessedly familiar.
His heart slammed, and he leaned hands and brow against the door in both gratitude and dread. "Eva?" he asked. "Eva MacArthur?"
* * *
Eva flattened her palms against the door, heart pounding. "Lachlann!"
"Eva, let me in." The deep timbre of his voice, not heard in more than three years, sent thrills along her spine.
Solas leaped at the door. Grainne leaped too, yapping furiously, rising on her hind legs. Eva pushed Grainne out of the way as she fumbled at the locks.
"Ach Dhia, Solas, you knew!" Eva murmured. "You knew Lachlann was at the door, when I thought the man was another soldier from Innisfarna, come drunk in the middle of the night!"
She slid free the wooden beam from the iron bars that held it, and pulled at the other fastening, an iron hasp and chain. The eye of the little bar fitted over a protruding iron staple, now jammed together. She tugged but could not loosen them.
Lachlann knocked again. "Eva!"
"The latch is stuck," she answered, pulling futilely. "It sometimes does this." Solas set up a heartbreaking howl, as did Grainne. "Oh, hush, Grainne. You too, Solas," Eva said, distracted by her struggle with the latch. Pulling on the center ring handle, she opened the door as wide as she could—a few inches at most—and peered out.
Moonlight haloed Lachlann's head and shoulders and glinted on the shoulders of his polished steel cuirass. His face was shadowed, and he seemed even taller and larger than she remembered. She gaped up at him.
"The bar may be rusted," he said. "Where did these bolts come from? Finlay and I never put them on this door."
"The blacksmith from Glen Brae installed them." She yanked again to free the snug bite of the metal, but failed. Lachlann stood so close she could scarcely think. "How is it you are here?" she asked, flustered.
Susan King - [Celtic Nights 03] Page 6
