He snapped the reins and rode out of the yard, yelling for his Highlanders as he went.
Lachlann took Eva's arm, stepped over the gold coin lying in the mud, and went into the smithy.
* * *
"Tempering," Lachlann said later, as he waved the new sword gently above the yellow flames, "must be repeated several times to produce a strong yet flexible blade."
Eva stood beside him, watching the steel, which had yet to turn the straw yellow color that preceded brown. Her thoughts were preoccupied with Colin and the harm he could cause all of them. She looked up at Lachlann, not following what he had said.
He frowned. "You are exhausted. I can finish this."
She shook her head. "I will help. You are nearly done. And then we must both rest."
"Go up to the house," he said quietly, shifting the blade in the flames, "and lock yourself inside."
"Only with you," she answered, and leaned her head wearily against his solid upper arm. "I am not afraid of Colin Campbell. He will have such a headache and bad stomach that he will threaten no one for a while." She tried to laugh, but it flattened. "I am worried about my kinsmen, though. They did not come back—I did not expect them to—but with Colin so set on finding them, I cannot rest well until I know where they are. Something is wrong—I feel it."
Lachlann frowned as he waved the sword blade over the flames. "I will go out soon, and find out what I can."
She nodded. "Oh! It is brown—now, take it out now."
He did, and plunged it into the heated brine, then pulled it out to examine it. "Nearly done," he said. "For the final tempering, it is left inside the charcoal bed while the embers burn down around it."
"And then it is finished?" she asked.
"It must be polished and the hilt pieces added," he said, "and then it is... nearly done." He slid the supple blade into the long bed of embers. "Now let me see what I can learn about your brother." He kissed her and left the smithy.
Eva turned to the forge bed and watched the hot red glow seep into Jehanne's restored sword. Flames licked around it, and the heat seared her face and hands. She stepped back from the intense warmth.
"He loved and respected you very much," she said to herself, to the sword, as if the girl who had once wielded it could hear her. "Thank you for sending him home safe to me."
She went to the heather bed in the corner and lay down upon it, suddenly so weary she could hardly keep her eyes open, could hardly pull the plaid around her for comfort. Within moments, sleep took her into its gentle darkness.
When she woke, the forge fire was a tiny red glow. Lachlann was not beside her, and Eva rose, still weary but filled with a heavy dread that would not allow her to sleep. She went to the door and opened it.
The night was black and cool and foggy, peaceful at first, until she heard the murmur of men's voices far below on the lochside. She went outside, walking toward the long bank, and stood listening, wrapping her arms around herself in the chill.
The voices grew more distinct, though still not loud, and she recognized Lachlann's and Alpin's voices with others. She hurried to the crest of the hill as they climbed upward. In the inky, misted darkness, she did not see them until they were a few feet from her.
"Who is there?" she asked. "Has something happened? Oh, Fergus, it is you! And Micheil! I was so worried." She reached out to touch her cousins' shoulders. Their faces, even in the darkness, were pale and grim. Alpin stepped closer, his hand to his head. A dark streak on his face, she realized then, was blood.
"What happened?" she cried.
"Eva," Lachlann said, taking her arm. "Simon was taken a little while ago. Colin has him. Fergus and the others were with him, and Colin's men rode them down. Simon was the only one taken—the others were left here."
"Is he at Strathlan? We will go there." She turned, but Lachlann held her back.
"He is at Innisfarna. Colin took him there not long ago."
Her heart dropped like a stone. "Held in the castle?"
"They took my boat," Alpin said. "I came over the water in the darkness because I thought the lads called to me. But when I got there, it was not the lads, but Colin and his men. Colin was so stupid drunk he could barely stand—and a mean drunk he is, too. Hit me so hard with the flat of his sword I thought I might die, right down there, on that beach." He kept his hand over his head. "I heard Green Colin say they would cage a wolf pup, and see if the she-wolf would come to them," he said. "He expects you to come over to Innisfarna."
"And so we shall," Lachlann said.
Eva took Alpin's arm. "Come up to the house and I will get some of Mairi's ointment, and a cool cloth," she said. "Then you must rest."
"And you must ready yourself, Aeife," Alpin answered. "It is time. Save your brother—and your isle. I have trained you for this. All you need do is face them, as the legend demands, and let us do the rest. Lachlann and the lads will gather a force from all over the hills, from every house and every cave, every man and every woman willing to bear arms for this cause. Together we will take back the island.
But you must be the one to set foot first upon the isle and call for its surrender."
She said nothing as they walked toward the house. She knew, in her heart, that he was right. The time had indeed come.
And she also knew that she must face Colin alone.
Chapter 29
"Lachlann, I must ask you something," Eva murmured.
"Ask." He glanced up from his task, the polishing of the sword with various sands, coarse to fine, rubbed on with tough pieces of leather. Even in the dimness of the smithy, the blue of his eyes had a unique, startling clarity.
The day grayed toward night; Eva had spent most of that time tending to Alpin, a surly patient, and speaking with her cousins, who came and went in their effort to spread the word around the glens and hills that the leader of the rebellion had been taken, and would be rescued somehow, along with the island. She knew the men spoke with Lachlann as well, and she had seen Angus come and go with the others.
But she had seen little of Lachlann until now, and a peaceful hour with him in the smithy seemed like a gift.
She saw that the sword was nearly finished. The hilt pieces were fitted in place, and Lachlann had chased lily designs into the blade, filling them with gold scraped from the old sword. He had repeatedly polished and sharpened the blade. The result, delicate and powerful and shining in his hands, was magnificent.
"Ask," he repeated. "You have been deep in thought. Eva, we will help Simon somehow. What is it?"
She drew a breath. "Would you make a faery sword for me?"
His brows pulled together. "I would do anything for you," he murmured. "But not that. MacKerron faery blades are a legend, just as Aeife and her Sword of Light are legendary."
She watched the mirrored surface of the blade. "That looks like a Sword of Light to me."
He lifted the blade. "The old ones, when they discovered the trick of turning iron into steel, called the new blades swords of light, for the mirror shine. That is all a sword of light is—a steel sword." The blade seemed to release sunbursts as he turned it in the gloom.
"Do you not see the magic in that blade?" she asked.
He frowned, and she sensed his natural guard sliding into place like a gate. "Whatever makes this sword special does not come from me, but from its first owner."
"You are a MacKerron smith, and you have talent and knowledge. There is something extraordinary about that sword. And your knack is in it. What if faery magic does exist?"
"If you want a sword of light, there is one in the loch. Surely you have some family secret for calling that thing out of the water when you need it."
She felt the sting of his words. "That is not helpful, and you know it. I need a special blade, and you can make one for me."
He narrowed his eyes as he rubbed the leather over the blade. "There is no real magic in my smithing, Eva."
"But Colin believes there is. He might release Simon a
nd give up the isle without protest if he knew I had such a sword."
"He is no fool when he is sober. We will rescue Simon through stealth and force—not through a girl with a sword. Iain Og and the rest of us are planning it now. Have patience."
"I cannot ignore the legend, Lachlann. Do you not believe in faery magic at all?"
"Some," he murmured, watching her. "But not in this."
She frowned. "But you do know the methods."
"There are secrets passed among MacKerron smiths, ways to imbue a blade with uncommon power. Or so they say."
"What methods?" she asked. Then, suddenly, she knew. "Ah. Blood in the steel. White sand gathered under a new moon. Iron from a sky stone... Is it so?"
He looked at her evenly, but she saw a glimmer in his eyes. "Charcoal made from trees taken from faery hills," he said. "Fire made from need-fire. Water from a faery source—"
"From Loch Fhionn, which holds the Sword of Light," she said, as excitement bloomed in her. "You used the old methods in making this sword—and never told me!"
"Smiths like their secrets." He turned the blade in his hand. "But you figured out most of it, quick wit that you are. Air, earth, fire, water—all those elements went into this blade, for what it may be worth." He shrugged.
"There is one more element, more powerful than faery lore," she said. "Love forged this blade. You and I together."
He smiled then, crooked and warm, and the light in his eyes revealed his agreement. Her heart surged within her, and she gathered the courage to speak her thoughts. "You could lend that blade to me," she said, "for one day's use."
He began to polish the steel again, and did not answer for a few moments. "I am proud that you are so skilled with swording," he said. "But I cannot put a sword in your hand myself, and watch you go into battle. I have seen that before, and I do not want to see it again."
She understood immediately. "Jehanne was a true sword maiden. I would be too, just for one day, one cause."
"Eva, can you not understand? I cannot lose you." His voice was gruff with intensity.
She moved toward him. "I ask only for a ceremonial sword. I will not place myself in danger. Colin would not hurt me, but my appearance as Aeife's descendant armed with a sword of light—a faery blade—might convince him to release my brother and give up his cause."
"Listen to me." He took her by the shoulders, his grip vehement. "I will say it again. I will not risk losing you."
She searched his gaze. "I am not like Jehanne."
"More than you know, my friend." He gathered her into his arms. "More than you could know."
"If I share anything with her, it is love for you, my friend," she whispered. "And you are the only one who can help me now. The sword is finished. Lend it to me, if you will."
He sighed into her hair, and she heard his surrender and his agreement. "It is not finished yet," he said. "There is one final step. Gather your plaid and come with me."
* * *
In the stillness of the hour before dawn, Lachlann woke and looked around. The hillside where they lay was close to the rocky gorge, and he heard the steady rush of the waterfall. He lay wrapped and comfortable in a thick plaid with Eva, who slept soft and quiet in his arms. Last night, they had climbed the long hillside behind Balnagovan to sleep, fasting and chaste, with the sword sheathed between them.
He woke her with a hand to her shoulder. In silence she sat up beside him, and he kissed her. Then he rose, bringing her to her feet, and took up the sword while she took up the plaid. They walked to the nearby burn and washed their faces, refreshed themselves, and Eva turned.
"Now?" she whispered.
"Nearly," he answered, and took her hand to climb to the top of the peak. Once there, he slid the sword from its leather scabbard and turned toward the east, with Eva by his side.
He held the sword upright, blade tip high, and began to breathe deeply, as Finlay and Leod had told him, as his father would have taught him had he lived. He breathed in the cool mountain air, the air of silence and purity and peace, seven times. Then he turned the hilt of the sword and breathed into it and over it, filling the sword with his own life force..
The sun began to crest the mountains far across the loch, far across the world. He held the sword in front of him, point upward, hands joined on the hilt, and waited. Eva stood beside him, patient and silent.
Dawn bloomed golden, spinning out the first strand of light. The sword blade captured it, mirrored it, and sent it outward in a blaze of gold and bronze and silver, intangible, ethereal fire.
He turned the blade in a downward arc until the tip pointed to the earth. The blade caught the light again, flashing like a jewel. His hands trembled, and he felt as if the light entered him somehow, filled him. He closed his eyes, and saw the brightness still.
Then he handed the sword to Eva, who took it in her hands and held it as he had, reverently, still as a statue, charging self and sword with the power of the light. The sun soared higher, a red-gold disk above the mountains.
"Now," Lachlann said, "it is finished."
When she offered it to him, he shook his head and took her hand to walk down the hillside, while she carried the sword.
* * *
Veiled in mist, the morning felt gentle, peaceful, not like a day for warring—though it might come to that later, Eva thought. She stood on the shore of the loch, wearing a belted plaid and shirt, trews and boots, her hair neatly braided. Still and quiet as the fog itself, she waited for Alpin. She could hear the plash of the oars in the water as he came toward her.
She rested her hand upon the sword sheathed at her side, feeling its power and its magic like a thrill. Sadness filled her too, a loneliness in her quest, the only sort of courage that she could find in herself, finally, when she knew the time had come. She had slipped out of the bed they shared in the house without waking him, readying herself quiet as a breath, closing the door without a sound. She had her own secret to keep.
Soon the prow of the boat appeared through the mist, and then she saw Alpin, head still bandaged, white hair wild about his head, shoulders bowed.
Somehow she had not realized how old he had become, she suddenly thought, how he had aged in the past few years, with care and strife, and with the burden of his love for the island.
She was going to win Innisfarna today, for him as much as for anyone else. For them all.
Alpin stilled the boat and she stepped inside, wordless. Equally silent, nodding to her, he took up the oars and pulled, and the boat skimmed over the loch toward the island, over the place where the Sword of Light was said to lie scabbarded in the water. Eva stood, her foot upon a cross bench, her hand upon the sword hilt, her face lifted to the wind.
* * *
Lachlann slid his sword into the scabbard with a whistling sound, muttering a curse under his breath as he strode toward the lochside. He turned to see Angus hurrying along behind him, followed by Margaret's five brothers with Iain Og and the rest of the MacArthur rebels-—a handful of men, but all they could manage on short notice.
"Did you see her?" he asked as Angus caught up to him.
"Nowhere," Angus answered. "She has gone over the water and no doubt about it, just as you thought."
"She went over to save Simon, and her island," Fergus said, his lanky legs bringing him into stride with Lachlann.
"I am sure of it. You said the sword you made was gone, along with her plaid and boots."
"She knew we were gathering men and arms," Lachlann said. "She knew we were making plans to take the island and win back Simon as quickly and safely as we could. Why the devil did she not wait? This is hardly something she should attempt on her own. She could be killed over there."
"Smith," Iain Og said, huffing along behind him. "You know the girl. You could not truly believe she would wait for us!"
"I did not think she would go over so soon, without a word to me or anyone. I thought she knew we needed time to gather our forces and make our plans, and
that she would be leading us."
"If Alpin came for her, she would go," Iain Og said. "The old man has been wanting her to do this for years. He has trained his warrior princess. No one believes in that legend more than Alpin MacDewar. He is part of Aeife's line, too."
Lachlann ran over the sand, the others keeping up with him. "Footprints," he said, as he neared the water's edge. "Hers, I am sure—smaller boots than any of ours. She waited here, where Alpin would have come for her. Damn," he swore. "Where is another boat?" He turned, paced down the beach, came back.
"There," Fergus said, pointing toward the water.
"What?" Lachlann looked and saw a boat emerging out of the mist on the loch. One small ferryman was at the oars. "For love of God... Ninian!" He splashed into the water, ankle-deep, Angus with him, and stretched out to draw the boat inward. "Ninian!" He lifted the boy out, setting his feet on the sand.
Ninian spoke to him, breathing hard and pointing madly, saying Eva's name again and again. Unsure what the boy said, Lachlann dropped to one knee to look at him on the same level. "Tell me," he said. "What happened? Where is Eva?"
"And how did you get all the way across in Alpin's boat by yourself?" Iain Og asked. "Quite a lad!" He beamed.
"Can he speak?" Andra asked. "I have never heard him talk, though we have seen him about with you and Eva."
"He does well, given the chance," Lachlann said, and kept his hand on Ninian's arm as the child spoke again.
"What is he saying?" Iain asked doubtfully.
Ninian pointed over the water, his words distorted, until Lachlann got the rhythm and the sense of it. "Eva," Ninian was saying. "At the castle, with her sword! She came with Alpin. I took the boat. Come, you must come!" He hauled on Lachlann's arm.
Within moments, Lachlann and a few of the others stepped into the boat, and Iain Og took up the oars. As they skimmed over deep water, Lachlann watched until the castle and the island appeared through the mists. What he saw on the rugged swath of ground that spread between the narrow beach and the massive stone castle made his heart hammer with dread.
Susan King - [Celtic Nights 03] Page 28
