"Melt it down to make things," he answered succinctly, and smiled at her, quick and wry. "Eva, fetch me one of the vials of oil from that chest by the wall if you will. This chain will need some polishing."
She went to the wooden chest, opened it and found a vial, then closed the lid. Something glittered overhead, and she glanced up. On the ledge formed at the top of the thick stone wall, below the rafters, she saw a long wrapped bundle of linen.
Through its open folds, she saw the yellow gleam of gold or brass. Reaching up, she meant to close the cloth, thinking that Lachlann would want this fine object better protected from the slightly smoky air. The package tumbled from the ledge, and she caught it as the cloth parted further.
Eva gasped, for she held a sword hilt of wrapped leather, with a disc pommel of shining brass and a gracefully curved cross guard of steel, trimmed in brass. The blade was broken at a sharp angle a little below the cross guard; the upper, pointed end of the blade lay stacked beneath the lower blade. Engraved lilies, chased in gold, glittered on both bright remnants.
"Give that to me," Lachlann said gruffly. She turned to see him standing behind her. So absorbed in discovering the sword, she had not heard him approach.
"This is beautiful," she said. "A common, lightweight thrusting sword, but with exceptional crafting. Is it one of the pieces you made before you left Balnagovan?" She continued to look at it. "How unfortunate that it cracked! There must have been a weak spot in the blade. Surely not a MacKerron blade, then," she said with a smile.
He looked grim. "A friend in France owned it, and I brought it back. I promised to repair it. Give it to me." He held out his hand firmly, beckoned.
Puzzled by his tone and attitude, she frowned, but handed it back to him. He began to wrap it carefully.
"I did not think you would wield such a sword yourself. Likely you prefer something more substantial for your grip and your strength, perhaps a two-handed double-edged longsword," she said.
He lifted a brow. "How do you know so much about swords?"
Eva started to answer, then remembered that Lachlann did not know about her sword lessons with Alpin. He was already sour on the topic of weapons for her kinsmen, so she could hardly tell him that, nor could she mention that she needed a good sword herself, something as light and fine as the one he held.
"I know some," she admitted, shrugging. "Enough to see that this one is a beautiful blade, even if it is not your own make. You and Finlay did not use that style of pommel, with a sunken center, and most of your cross pieces were sloped but straight, ending in tiny quatrefoils." Eva opened the linen carefully to point at the blade decoration. "And this one has flowers engraved along the fuller. You and Finlay always cut tiny hearts just under the guard. A heart, as a pun on MacKerron and mo caran," she added.
"Mo caran," he murmured, looking at her. "My beloved."
A shiver rippled through her as she returned his gaze, but she could not reply. For an instant, she felt her longing overflow. She glanced away, as he did.
He touched the bare blade gently, and pulled back the cloth to reveal the full sword in two pieces. "The lilies are called fleurs-de-lis in French," he said. "They are a symbol of the French royal house."
"Did a French royal own this sword?" she asked in awe. She traced a finger over the delicate lilies along the fuller, the channel in the center of the blade that lightened the weight of the steel for added flexibility and control.
"Not a royal," he said. "An angel held this one."
She stilled her fingers on the smooth steel to look at him, puzzled. Then, realizing what he meant, she gasped. "Lachlann, is this the Maid's own sword? The legendary blade of Saint Catherine?"
He frowned. "How did you hear about that?"
"My cousins told me about it," she said. "Parian and William told me something of Jehanne the Maid, and they mentioned that she carried a sword with golden flowers along the blade, of shining brass and steel. The sword was a special one, blessed and magical—given to the Maid by Saint Catherine herself."
"Not magical, but extraordinary in its way." His blue eyes darkened, and Eva saw sadness reflected there. "Jehanne learned of the sword in a dream and sent men to a deserted chapel to find it. It was there, beneath the floorstones. I examined the weapon myself when they brought it to her. She asked me to make a scabbard of leather for it—of plain leather, to suit a soldier," he went on in a husky tone. "She wanted a sturdy sheath, not the jeweled thing the king had given her. It was her way."
She nodded her understanding. "My cousins said the sword broke, and then vanished when her campaign failed."
"She broke it in a temper," Lachlann said. "She struck it downward while arguing a plan of strategy with some of us—it hit a rock and cracked. She had a fierce temper," he added, smiling a little, wan and quick. He lifted the hilt out of the cloth. The light from the forge glinted red on the mirror-bright blade as he turned it.
"Promise me," he said, "that you will never tell anyone that you have seen this."
"I will never tell," she whispered, watching him.
"Her enemies are still about," he said. "The English—the Goddams, she called them, for the swearing they did—would do anything to have this, if they knew it still existed. They fear it has some magic. Whatever it had... is gone now."
Seeing the heartbreak in his expression as he looked at Jehanne's sword, she caught her breath. "Then you must keep it well hidden and protect it."
He nodded. "They asked her about the sword at her trial. She refused to reveal its whereabouts to her judges, though she knew that I had it at the time."
"She did not want to endanger you." Somehow she felt that was true. Her awe and admiration for the Maid had always been great, but now it deepened with gratitude, for Jehanne had protected Lachlann. "Were you there, where she..."
"In Rouen, where she was tried and executed?" His tone turned bitter. "I was there. I attended her trial sessions. I visited her in her prison cell." The darkness lingered in his eyes, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. "But I was not there when she died."
Now she was sure that he had loved the girl and mourned her deeply. She felt compassion for his grief, but felt, too, a thread of disappointment for herself, which she knew she must ignore. "But you were true and loyal," she said. "She must have been glad you were there."
Something flickered over his face. "I hope so. This sword... is all that is left of her. When it broke, she asked me to repair it, and insisted that I keep it. I promised to fix it. Someday, she said, I would know what to do with it. But... I do not know what to do with it, except keep it tucked away." He glanced at her. "No one but you would have found it. And I do not mind you knowing about this."
She smiled a little. "Lachlann, you have the skill and the talent to restore this to its original beauty. But perhaps you do not want to change it, and lose that last piece of her."
"That may be." He frowned, traced his hand over the sword, then held it out to her. "Hold it, if you like."
Eva took the hilt and lifted the sword, jagged edge upright, the dark interior of the steel gaping like a great wound. The leather hilt fit her hand perfectly; if the sword had been whole, it would have suited her in length and balance. The light sparked on the polished steel, and Eva could easily imagine a shining, complete blade.
A strange, sure sense of its mystery, its power, shivered through her, as if the sword was indeed magical. The thought of its noble and courageous owner made her feel humble. Light sparkled over the quillons and broken blade, and she remembered another sword, the one in Innisfarna's legend.
"This makes me think of the Sword of Light," she murmured. "I can feel Jehanne, somehow, in this sword—I can feel her pride, her strength, the air of blessedness that must have surrounded her."
"You sound as if you knew her." Lachlann watched her. "You remind me of her."
She glanced at him. "How could I be anything like her?"
"You are similar in appearance—she was dark-haired too,
and like you in size and shape, though she was somewhat sturdier in build. And her eyes were gray and full of spark and spirit, as yours are. It is your boldness, your spirit that is most like her." He smiled. "That, and your stubborn temper."
Eva smiled, too, glad to see his humor returning. "She dressed like a man, I heard."
"She did that to protect her virtue among the soldiers. Though none of the men who rode and fought with her would ever have harmed her. She was safe with us—or so we thought, until she was captured."
"Was she lovely?" she asked. She handed him back the sword, and he laid it inside the cloth, swathing it carefully.
"She had a beautiful shape, and her face was serene and pure. But it was her courage and her faith that gave her true beauty. She was like a warrior angel."
Sensing his devotion to the girl, Eva felt it like a blow inside. She knew his heart hurt from the tragedy, and she wished she could do something to help him recover. She sighed. "I wish I had known her."
"She needed a friend like you, I think," he said. Then he glanced toward the door, frowning. "What is going on out there?"
Outside, Eva heard the two dogs barking in a frenzy, and she knew that they had seen something they did not like. She went to the door. Lachlann put the sword back in its niche on the top of the wall and followed her.
Eva stepped into the yard and shielded her eyes with her hand. Grainne and Solas cut across the meadow over the lochside slope between the smithy and the stable, barking furiously. She lifted the hem of her skirt and ran after them.
Two boats glided near the beach, and she saw the glint of armor through the morning mist. She turned to see Lachlann.
"Alpin is coming over the water," she called. "He has some of the king's men with him!"
Chapter 17
As the two boats beached on the shore below the smithy property, Eva recognized Alpin rowing the first, with three of the king's men and Ninian inside. The second boat held more soldiers, rowed by one of them.
"The soldiers cross the loch nearly every day to look after their horses, and they often ride out after my brother and the other rebels." She glanced at Lachlann. "Some of the soldiers have been discourteous to me, and so I avoid them if I can."
He nodded his understanding. When the men began to climb the hill, he stepped in front of her, his wide shoulders and plaid-draped back forming a shield.
Her reaction to that, from another man, would have been to step forward to show she could defend herself. Yet she accepted it easily from him, glad of his gesture of support.
John Robson was a large man, brawny and blond, with a relaxed confidence that Eva found reassuring. She watched him walk nearer. "I have no quarrel with Robson," she said, "though I do not like having the garrison on the island."
"He seems trustworthy... for a king's man," he said wryly.
She shot him a little glare at the inference to her initial mistrust of him upon his return to Balnagovan. "I do not hold a good opinion of all of his men. -A few showed me such scant respect at Innisfarna that I felt it wisest to leave. That is when I came to stay with Mairi MacKerron."
"Barricading yourself behind locks and latches."
"Exactly so. And to be truthful, I am glad you came back to Balnagovan. I feel safer here."
"Now that I am here, or now that the locks are repaired?" he drawled. "Greetings, John Robson," he called in English, as the men attained the crest of the long hill.
"MacKerron! How are you, sir?"
"Well, and yourself? Another patrol, is it?"
"Aye. Good morn to you, Lady Eva," Robson said, nodding.
"Sir John, greetings," she murmured in English, using the schooled accent of the native Gael: precise, formal, and melodious. Lachlann, she noticed, had mastered the rolling rhythms of Lowland Scots, though he next addressed Alpin in Gaelic, murmuring low and clasping his hand.
"And the boy?" Lachlann asked then, peering at Ninian, who stood partly behind Alpin, his shoulders hunched, head ducked.
"This is Ninian Campbell. He is a page at Innisfarna," Eva said, beckoning the boy forward. He cupped his hand over his lower face to hide his scarred lip, as he often did with strangers. "And this is Lachlann the smith," she told the boy.
"Failte," Lachlann said in greeting. Ninian looked at him with wide blue eyes, as if he had never seen a man quite so tall or so banded with muscle. In the cool morning air, while the other men wore armor and cloaks, Lachlann, by contrast, still wore only the belted plaid, without a shirt. His bare torso and long dark hair gave him a savage appearance, Eva thought, and a wild, elemental sort of beauty. But she knew that he was more civilized and intelligent than most of the men now facing him.
Ninian glanced nervously at Eva, and she smiled. "The smith is a friend," she said in Gaelic. "You need not be anxious."
Nodding, Ninian took his hand away from his face.
"I am pleased to meet you, Ninian," Lachlann said calmly, taking the boy's slender hand in his huge grasp. He showed no reaction to the child's scarred mouth. Eva smiled, for she had been certain of Lachlann's kind acceptance. Alpin nodded in gruff approval, patting the boy's shoulder.
"We have found some tasks for him," Robson told Eva. "Colin Campbell sent orders that he was to be kept busy, though we have several pages and squires already. The boys tease him, and he scraps with them-—a tough fellow, this one—but he keeps to himself. And he is a good worker, when he can be found at all," he added wryly, glancing at Alpin, who looked blatantly innocent.
"There are plenty of chores in the stable and the smithy," Lachlann said. "The boy could do some work here."
Robson nodded. "That would be fine."
Lachlann looked down at Ninian. "You look like a strong fellow who could easily fetch water for the smithy and the stable. And I think you could groom the horses and lead them out to the meadow sometimes too. For now, since the soldiers are taking the horses out, perhaps you could fill the water troughs and put fresh oats in the stalls. There is a huge sack of oats in the stable, but I know you can move it."
Ninian nodded eagerly. Eva smiled. "When you are done with that, come to the house. Grainne would love to see you again," she said. The boy covered a grin with his hand, and ran toward the stable, plaid hem flying about his knees.
Lachlann tilted his head in curiosity and looked at Eva. "Colin sent him to Innisfarna? Is the boy his Campbell cousin?"
Eva hesitated. "He is Colin's son."
"Ah," he murmured. "You will be his stepmother."
"So it seems," she replied. She did not want to think about that. More and more she hated the prospect of her coming marriage, although it would benefit her kinsmen, and Ninian too.
Robson turned from discussion with Alpin, who waved to Eva and Lachlann, then walked back down to the beach. "Have you had a chance to shoe the horses yet?" Robson asked Lachlann.
"Not yet, as the house and stable were in dire need of repairs. And I want to fetch wrought iron from the ironmonger in Glen Brae, and charcoal as well, from a charcoal burner there."
Robson nodded. "Fetch whatever you need for making good steel as well. We need weapons repaired, and new blades."
"I will see what is available," Lachlann said smoothly.
Eva gaped at him, wishing she could point out that he had flatly refused to make weapons for her kinsmen. He slid her a sharp glance, and she saw his awareness of that.
"You are dressed for war," Lachlann said then. "Is this more than a routine patrol?"
"Not as yet, though the crown may order that soon." Robson looked at Eva. "For now, we seek to keep the king's peace. Our obvious presence should help discourage the raiding."
Lachlann's deliberate glance at Eva told her that he did not think so. "I have not yet seen the rebels myself, to deliver the king's message," he told Robson. "Although I would wager they are well aware of the crown's disapproval without the benefit of written messages."
"No doubt. But the king's message must be delivered into their hands. My o
ffer to you still stands. Ride with us."
"You invited the smith to ride patrol with you?" Eva asked, surprised.
"Certainly. He is a king's man himself. And he knows these hills, and the rebels as well," Robson answered. "Tell me, MacKerron, when you were in France, did you see much of the fray there?"
"I was at Chinon Castle, guarding the dauphin before he was crowned king. For a while I rode with the Maid of Lorraine, as part of her Scots guard. We accompanied her to Orleans, and we were with her at Paris, Lagny, Compiegne, and elsewhere."
"By the saints! What an adventure that must have been!"
"Indeed," Lachlann murmured.
One of Robson's men, listening with avid interest, watched Lachlann. "Did you see the French lassie's end?" he asked. "Were you there for the burning, sir?"
"Nay," Lachlann answered curtly. Eva saw a small muscle pulse in his jaw. Now that she better understood the depth of his feelings for Jehanne, she felt a rush of sympathy.
"No doubt the smith respects the girl's memory and does not wish to discuss her," she told the soldier.
"Well, she had the sympathy of many, including the Scots," Robson said. "A pity naught could be done to help her."
"Aye," Lachlann barked. "I believe your mounts are ready, sir," he said, gesturing toward the stables as a few of the men brought the saddled horses outside. Robson strode toward the horses, while Eva and Lachlann walked on either side of him.
"Lady Eva," Robson told her. "I am glad for this chance to speak with you. Generally when we come here, you are nowhere to be found. I wanted to tell you that I recently had a message from Sir Colin. He assures me that he intends to claim his bride soon." He smiled.
Eva raised her chin. "He sent no message to me. I have had no word from him in nearly a year."
"You will see him within the month, I expect. I plan to return a message to him at Edinburgh. Would you like to send a reply in the packet?"
"I will wait until he arrives, if it will be that soon," she answered. Her stomach tumbled with dread, but she could not think about Colin's arrival, here and now, with Lachlann standing so close to her. Robson nodded farewell to both of them before to catching the reins of his horse and mounting up with the rest of his men.
Susan King - [Celtic Nights 03] Page 16
