"What was that?" Lachlann asked.
"Do you remember that Beltane night before you went to France? Margaret hoped you would walk out with her, but you left her in my care and went walking with Eva. Margaret was not pleased with you for that... oof," he said on exhale, as Margaret elbowed him sharply. "But by the end of the night, she was pleased with me, I think." Angus winked at his wife.
"Oh, I was—and you were even happier," Margaret murmured, and patted his bearded cheek. Angus laughed outright, in an exuberant, appealing way that made everyone smile.
"You are welcome for the favor," Lachlann said. "You seem well suited to one another."
"A pity you did not find yourself a wife that night, to warm you well," Angus said, though Margaret gasped aloud. "If he had, he might have stayed here, saving us from throwing good coin away with the drunkard," he told his wife defensively.
Again Lachlann glanced at Eva; memories of Beltane were imprinted on his heart. Eva's pink blush told him that she, too, had some fervent recollections.
"That Glen Brae smith is not a MacKerron, that is his trouble," Angus went on. "MacKerrons have smithing in their very blood, from ages past."
Margaret nodded. "MacKerrons are supposed to have dark faery blood, which gives them their skill—and their dark hair and light eyes, or so they say. Eva has dark faery blood in her, too, from Aeife the Radiant One. You know the story, Lachlann."
"It has been a long time since I heard it," he answered.
Margaret shifted her infant, who mewled and stretched in his sleep, to her shoulder and rubbed his back. "Perhaps Eva will tell the story to our little Maeve, who has not yet heard it."
"Maeve is young for a story, but I would like to hear one myself," Angus said. "A tale told by the fireside on a poor night is the best tale of all. Perhaps Eva will oblige us while we finish our brose, before we leave."
"I will, but you are welcome to stay the night, for the rain will not end soon," Eva said. As she spoke, Maeve left her lap to toddle toward Solas and show the dog her string game. Lachlann reached out a hand to prevent the child from stumbling too close to the hearth, and she offered the string to him. He smiled, and she plunked down on his lap, surprising him.
"We would be glad to stay," Angus said. "Maeve, come here."
"She is fine," Lachlann said, patting the child's soft curls. She relaxed against his chest. "Perhaps Eva will tell us all a story now."
Eva nodded, and paused for a moment. "Be still and silent, and I will tell you a tale worth the telling," she began.
Lachlann leaned back against the warm stones of the hearth wall, with the little girl cozy in his lap. Spoken in Eva's hushed, mellow voice, the familiar tale held new fascination for him.
"...And when Aeife took up the sword," Eva said, drawing near the close of the story, "it was feather-light and supple in her hand, with a blade like the sun and a hilt of gold, and a pommel like a clear jewel with a thousand colors in it."
Lachlann frowned. Long ago, he had imagined crafting such a sword, exquisite and unique, replete with magic. But dreams were only dreams, he reminded himself. They rarely came true.
As Eva finished the story, he blinked, coming out of his own thoughts. Margaret wiped a tear away and Angus sniffled. Lachlann looked down at the child, now sleeping against his chest. Gently, he lifted her up and handed her to Angus.
Lachlann smiled at the storyteller, and her eyes sparkled as she looked at him. "And so the tradition continues along Aeife's line," he said, "to our own Eva, the radiant one. Thank you for a fine tale," he murmured. "Well worth the telling."
* * *
Embers burned like rubies in the forge, mirrored crimson in the broken sword. Lachlann turned the hilt slowly in his hands. Unable to sleep despite the comfort of his heather bed and the soothing sound of the rain, he had risen before dawn to take Jehanne's sword from its hiding place. Now he studied it, the steel cool in his hands, the heat of the fire warming his skin.
The memory of Jehanne's small, gaunt face, vivid with suffering, was still hurtful, but he would always be thankful for the great privilege of riding with her. He blew out a breath, and sadness seemed to dissolve a little, as if the burden had lessened. Coming home—and, above all, being with Eva—had begun to heal him. He felt it as clearly as a shower of clean rain.
He closed his eyes, and the accursed stars that so often floated across his field of sight flared. Certainly healing might never occur, no matter how winsome or welcome the remedy. He swore low and fierce, like a dragon's out-breath, and laid the sword on the forge. Firelight poured over the steel like blood.
Jehanne had told him that he would know what to do with her sword one day. Yet still he did not. He had never been plagued by indecision or inaction, yet he had not fulfilled his promise to repair her sword. He did not know if he could.
After Eva had told the story of Aeife and the Sword of Light, Lachlann had gone back to the smithy to lie awake, thinking about Aeife, about Jehanne, about Eva, and about the swords for those maidens, one blade actual and hidden, the other a legend.
He imagined Eva, sword in hand like Aeife and Jehanne, strong and beautiful, determined to defend her island and fulfill tradition. He sighed, considering the broken blade in his hand.
Three sword maidens in his life, three different and dazzling threads: one existed in an ancient tale, and one now had the brightness of legend upon her. And the third he loved to the depth of his being. Of the three, Eva was the one who was inextricably part of him. Living without her would tear at him forever.
He whirled the pommel in his palm, and slid the sparkling blade back into its swath of cloth. With a sudden sense of conviction, he knew he must take action. He needed resolution, not legends. He needed Eva, and somehow he must win her.
Chapter 14
Eva sat straighter in the boat, gazing past Alpin to look at her island, green and steadfast upon the surface of the water, the stone castle rising from a ring of trees and rock. Alpin skimmed the boat past the island through the cool, whipping wind.
"Innisfarna is still a beautiful place," Lachlann said, gazing at the island from his seat on a cross bench behind Alpin. Eva glanced toward him. "It has not changed," he added.
"Innisfarna will never change," she said fiercely. "It must remain protected, and as it is, forever."
"How long since you were there?" he asked.
"Too long," she said, glancing at Alpin. She visited the island often, but kept that to herself.
"She will return in triumph one day," Alpin said, looking over his shoulder at Lachlann. "When she fights for her isle."
"Alpin," Eva warned.
"When she fights for it?" Lachlann repeated.
"Green Colin wants it, but we will not let him have it," he said, and grunted in agreement with himself as he pulled on the oars. "When the time comes to defend, Eva will be ready."
Eva sent him a little glare, but Alpin ignored her.
Lachlann drew his brows together, but said nothing more. The boat glided past Innisfarna quickly on a wind-driven current. A rocky finger of land soon obscured all but the treetops and the battlement of the castle. Lachlann turned to gaze at the shoreline as they skimmed northward on the loch.
She watched him curiously. He seemed relaxed, but she saw a subtle tightening around his eyes and mouth. She wondered if he was eager or worried about seeing Mairi.
Alpin had come early that morning to tell them that Mairi MacKerron had returned to Glen Brae and waited to see her foster son. Lachlann had wanted to travel immediately on horseback, but Alpin insisted on taking him with Eva in the boat.
"There is Glen Brae." Alpin pointed across the water toward the rounded hills that rose along the north side of the loch. "The castle is there, on that hill." He indicated a tower of yellow stone, resting upon the cleared slope of a forested hill.
"I have not been to this end of the loch for several years," Lachlann said. "Finlay and I sometimes made the journey on garron ponies to pur
chase iron and charcoal, but the distance is over thirty miles and took so long to manage that we generally bought our charcoal closer to home. Glen Brae Castle is held by Stewarts, as I recall," he added.
"Sir Patrick Stewart has it now," Eva said. "He is a distant cousin to the king. Mairi's niece married him."
"The girl with all the little ones?" he asked, smiling, and she nodded. The smoky odor that had tinted the wind was gone now, replaced by the clean scent of the water. She lifted her face to the wind, and Alpin pulled the oars, sending the long, low craft into the spray.
Lachlann sat half-turned, breezes fingering his thick, dark hair, his profile strong in the sunlight, his blue eyes bright and narrowed. Her heart flipped crazily each time she looked at him, and the steaming passion of his kisses whirled inside of her again. She looked away, pulling her arisaid close around her, but she felt a wave of desire so fresh that her cheeks grew hot.
Several nights ago, if she had stayed in the smithy, and if she had answered his query differently—honestly—instead of walking away to shut herself in the house, something more might have happened between them. Dreams might have come true.
She sighed, and noticed Lachlann's steady gaze fixed upon her. Certainly he, too, felt the passion that sparked between them. How long she could deny that power, she did not know. It flared within her whenever he was near.
Eva watched the water foam and rush past the side of the boat until Alpin pulled in to the shore and tied the craft to a wooden jetty. They stepped out and followed a path that led up a long hill toward the castle, the climb so steep that Eva felt the burn of it in her legs, though she was accustomed to much walking and running over the hills of Glen Fhionn.
The iron gates were open, and Eva, Lachlann, and Alpin were welcomed inside by the sentry, who knew the ferryman. Alpin's request to see Mairi MacKerron produced a broad smile, and they were waved into the bailey yard. A servant girl led them up a flight of stone steps to a second-level entry.
They walked along corridors inside a castle that was as large and grand as the properties her father had held before the dispossession of her clan. Eva looked about with enough interest to slow her step, and she lagged behind when the servant brought them to a wide, arched doorway and knocked.
The girl opened the door and spoke, then waved them inside when a woman called out in welcome. Lachlann entered first.
"Oh, Lachlann!" Mairi's deep, warm voice rang out, and she rose from her seat to rush toward him. Eva smiled through tears as she watched Mairi wrap her foster son in a long embrace. They were not mother and son in the flesh, yet they were similar in their tall, strong builds and dark heads. Mairi's eyes were a warm, serene brown, and her hair, beneath a bleached linen kerchief, was liberally streaked with gray.
He smiled at her. "When I came back to Balnagovan, you were not there to welcome me," he teased. "I was surprised to find Eva instead—and glad that you had taught her to cook." He grinned. "She made me feel at home again. She even brews a heather ale as fine as your own, and keeps your house and animals well."
Mairi laughed. "I am glad to hear it. Three years and more you were gone, my boy," she added crisply. "Did you expect me to sit and wait for you? I have plenty to do, though I took time to pray for you each day. Ah, Eva, come here," she said, reaching for her. "It is good to see you."
Eva stepped into the firm, warm embrace she had come to love. "Mairi!"
"I am glad you were there when Lachlann came home," Mairi whispered. "You were always dear to him, and I think it meant much to him to find you there." Eva felt her throat tighten while Mairi released her and turned. "Alpin MacDewar, do not think to get a hug or kiss from me, you old goat."
"Och, I washed for nothing," Alpin groused.
Eva laughed then, accustomed to the prickly banter between the two old friends. She saw a real flush creep into Alpin's weathered face, and Mairi's brown eyes sparkled.
Lachlann put an arm around his foster mother's shoulders and led her to a backed bench piled with cushions, beside a huge stone fireplace. Several children sat in the vast chamber, beside the hearth and on stools and on the floor. "Introduce us to your brood, Muime," Lachlann said, smiling down at a pair of small girls who openly gaped at him, their handsewn dolls clutched tightly in their arms.
"The four nearest the hearth are the children of my niece Katrine and her husband, Patrick Stewart," Mairi said. "The other four—the small girls, and the two boys by the window—are their Stewart cousins. They are all in my charge for now. Lachlann, sit. Eva, Alpin, you as well. The serving girl will bring refreshments—for you, too," she added to the children.
Clearing a seat for Eva, Mairi pushed aside a board game set up on another bench. A stone playing piece clattered to the floor, and a toddling boy emerged from somewhere to pick up the stone and taste it. Eva plucked it out of his hand and Mairi scooped him expertly beneath her arm.
"Little Patrick is a curious soul," Mairi said. "Elspeth and Robbie, please move your game over there. The adults want to talk." The boy and girl gathered their board game and took the pieces over to a window seat to sit with their cousins.
Mairi settled on the cushioned bench holding Patrick in her lap. A low cradle sat on the floor, and she began to rock it with one foot. Inside the shadowed interior, Eva noticed a mound of silken coverings, two tiny pink fists, and a peaceful, tiny face. "So this is Katrine's newest one," she said.
"Her name is Aileen," Mairi said, looking at Lachlann. Eva noticed a quick frown cross his brow.
"My birth mother's name," he said quietly, as he sat beside Mairi. "No wonder you have not yet returned to Balnagovan, for you are surely busy here. How long do you expect to stay here? Until these little creatures grow tall?" He smiled at Patrick, who watched him with wide brown eyes.
"Katrine and her husband, Patrick, are looking for two young nurses for this brood," Mairi said. "I will stay until they find them. Now, tell me what you have been doing, Lachlann. I see a new scar on your chin—how did this happen?" She took his nicked jaw in a brisk, motherly fashion.
"An English arrow clipped me at Orleans," he answered.
"Orleans! Where the French girl won the day? I heard you rode with her! That made me so proud." Mairi beamed at him.
"We Scots stayed beside her throughout the battle," he said. "She wiped the blood from my face with her own sleeve when I was hit." Eva looked at him in surprise, for he had said little about his adventures in France.
"I heard she was a courageous, remarkable girl. Did you know her well?" Mairi asked.
"Jehanne was my commander, and I admired her. She was captured, tried for heresy, and executed. What more is there to say?" He spoke mildly, but Eva heard the current of tension in his voice. He turned his attention to Patrick, waggling his fingers and smiling as the child tried to snatch his hand.
"Were you with her when she died?" Mairi asked.
He shook his head, and Eva felt a sense of relief. She was glad he had not witnessed that tragedy, though she found herself wondering what he knew of the Maid of Orleans. "I was not in Rouen then. I was on my way home to Scotland to recover from some wounds I had taken."
"Were you badly hurt?" Mairi asked in concern.
He shrugged. "A cut in the side, and a blow to the head. They are healed now, though my vision is not as sharp as it once was."
"Tell us what happened." She touched his arm, and he shook his head. Watching, Eva felt her heart constrict for him in echo of his pain. He did not look at her.
Patrick giggled, eager to renew the finger game. Lachlann wiggled his hand, and the child lunged, arms extended, toward him. Chuckling, Lachlann lifted the dark-haired, blue-eyed toddler onto his lap. Eva sat silently with the others, acutely aware that Lachlann deliberately hid something about his past.
Mairi smiled, watching him play with Patrick. "That child could be your own, you two look so much alike," she said. "Well, you are cousins, after all."
"What?" Lachlann looked at her over the child's
head.
Eva, startled, stared at both of them. "Cousins?"
"His father—who is not here just now, or I would introduce you to him—is your first cousin. Your mothers were sisters. Lachlann, I thought Finlay explained that to you before he died."
Lachlann shook his head. "Finlay told me something about my parents, but not that detail. What else should I know?" he asked in a wary tone.
Eva glanced at Alpin, who looked troubled. All she had ever heard of Lachlann's parents was that they were related to Finlay and had died when Lachlann was a baby. Now she realized that Lachlann himself had been told little more than that.
Mairi sighed. "Finlay wanted the truth kept from you when you were younger. He intended to tell you when the time was right, but he kept putting off that day. Then he died so quickly from what seemed a simple illness..." She drew a breath, and Lachlann took her hand. "I knew he spoke to you privately as he slipped away, but I was so heartbroken that I could not bear to hear his last words... not then. By the time I found the strength to ask, you were about to depart for France. I waited until you returned. Lachlann, I am sorry."
"I understand. Tell me what you know." He glanced at Eva and Alpin. "I trust you two," he told them, and Eva felt a warm thrill at his words. He glanced at her directly. "Perhaps you need to hear this, too."
* * *
The little one in Lachlann's lap squirmed and began to fret. He handed him to Mairi, who soothed him until the child relaxed against her. At the same time, she continued to rock Aileen's cradle with her foot.
"I remember the night you were brought to Balnagovan, to Finlay and me, the night your parents died," she said. "You were just past a year old, the same age as this little fellow."
"Who brought me to you?" Lachlann asked.
"The charcoal burner and his wife," she said. "The old one who lives in the forest above Strathlan. I think he lives there still. Alpin?" she asked, turning.
Susan King - [Celtic Nights 03] Page 13
