At the heart of Kinfairlie’s forest was a smoking wasteland. It was not a large area, merely a clearing that had been made bigger than once it was. The contrast between its blackened state and the surrounding forest was remarkable.
But what struck Stewart’s heart was the realization that the burned area was precisely where their camp had been.
Stewart and the boys arrived at first light, all of them exhausted after a day and a night of hard riding. They halted their steeds as one to stare at the blackened ground. Within this circle, the trees were burned to stumps, and the undergrowth was still smoking.
It was curiously silent, the wild creatures having retreated to other areas of the forest.
The sky was as pale as burnished silver, devoid of clouds, and the wind was still. There was only the tendrils of smoke rising from the devastation. Stewart crossed himself as he looked upon it, for he feared the worst. They rode through the forest toward Kinfairlie in silence. When they reached the perimeter of the woods, Gavin bit his lip and looked out to the sea.
“Do you think my lord Murdoch was trapped in the fire, sir?” Hamish asked, his voice small.
Stewart considered the scene. “Either he has been captured and languishes within Kinfairlie’s dungeon, or he escaped. If he escaped, it must be because he followed the road away from Kinfairlie.” He scanned the land in every direction. Could Murdoch have ridden across the fields? He caught a glimpse of movement in the far distance, though he could not identify what he saw from this vantage point. Whatever – or whoever – it was seemed to be moving toward the ruined keep of Ravensmuir.
Something white, on a snowy field.
“The laird prepares to ride out,” Gavin said quietly, pointing to the array of pennants and horses being mustered in Kinfairlie’s distant bailey. “I say my lord Murdoch lives.”
Stewart could not suppress his smile. “I say you are right, and I am glad of it.” He pointed toward the distant motion on the fields. “Do you with your young eyes think that to be a white horse with a rider crossing the fields to Ravensmuir?”
Gavin’s expression lit as he stared. “I cannot say for certain, my lord, but I believe you to be right in this.”
“And I would know the truth of it,” Stewart said. “Ride on, for Ravensmuir!”
* * *
Chapter Fifteen
Isabella was filled with trepidation as she and Murdoch reached Ravensmuir. The sun was piercingly bright, which only made the shadows within the ruined keep seem more ominous.
From the road that approached the gates of the keep, Ravensmuir would not appear damaged, for the curtain wall remained mostly intact. From this vantage point, Murdoch having ridden across the fields, Isabella could see that the wall was a mere facade. One tower yet pointed at the sky, its windows as dark as midnight, and the rest of the once majestic keep lay in piles of tumbled stones.
Murdoch rode Zephyr through the gates, where once a sturdy portcullis would have blocked the path. Alexander had had the smith remove the portcullis and install it at Kinfairlie, for it was strong and there was little to defend at Ravensmuir any more. Once through the portal, Isabella could see only the sea stretching to the horizon in every direction. The great hall was collapsed to one side, the stables shaky on the far side of the bailey. The land fell into great pits, the turf broken and dark hollows visible.
“Once there were caverns,” Isabella said. “An entire network of them that wound beneath the keep and led down to a secret harbor by the sea. When the spriggan Darg challenged Rosamunde and Tynan over the ownership of the relics, the caverns collapsed.”
“How?”
“I am not certain. Rosamunde is reluctant to dwell upon it. She gave us only the bare details.” Isabella swallowed. “It must have been terrifying.”
Murdoch nodded. “But that was how your uncle Tynan died?”
“It was the last time he was seen.” Isabella shuddered. “No one dared to descend into the ruin to seek his body.”
Murdoch dismounted, his manner thoughtful, then lifted her down from the saddle. Isabella glanced up at that one tower, unable to keep herself from looking for the ravens even though she knew she would not see them.
Ravensmuir seemed ghostly to her, but a vestige of what it once had been. She felt new grief at the loss of Tynan, and regretted again that Malcolm had chosen to leave. When she had been a child, Ravensmuir had been so wondrous and now it was abandoned. Even so, the old keep had a strange sense about it, as if unseen persons held their breath and watched what she and Murdoch would do.
Perhaps it was Tynan’s ghost.
The spriggans’ path led directly into the largest opening in the earth. It looked as if it might have been a portal in the hall, one that had sunk several feet into the ground. Isabella peered into the darkness and discerned a passage. When she straightened, she saw her concerns echoed in Murdoch’s eyes.
“How stable is the ground?” he asked, glancing over the ruin.
“It has not moved, by all accounts, since that day. And truly, before that, Ravensmuir stood for several hundred years.” Isabella bit her lip, knowing she had to give voice to her fears. “Are we wise to descend into this cavern to challenge spriggans over relics? Others have fared badly in this.”
Their gazes met for a long moment and Isabella saw that Murdoch shared her trepidation. “I understand the risk, but have little choice,” he said finally, just as Isabella had feared he would. “But I must try to leave some good reminder of my reprieve in this mortal world. I must try to regain the relic.”
“You could die, as Tynan did.”
“I will die in less than a fortnight, my Isabella, unless we break the curse. I cannot believe that shirking this task will do it.” His lips thinned. “I have less to lose than you, and I sense that I have everything to gain.”
Isabella nodded agreement. “I wish I knew exactly what had happened. The spriggans seem so small. Mischievous, to be sure, but not dangerous.”
Murdoch kissed her knuckles. “No doubt, like all the Fae, they do not care to be vexed or challenged.” Isabella nodded, recalling the storm of the previous night well enough. Murdoch winked at her. “I shall be polite beyond belief.”
It was clear he meant to go alone. Isabella knew this choice was sensible, but she rebelled against it all the same.
Of what merit would her life be without Murdoch? Though Rosamunde had survived and loved again, Isabella could not believe the same would happen to her.
She knew that Rosamunde would not have stepped away from Tynan on that day, even if she had known the outcome of her venture into the caverns.
And with that realization, Isabella’s decision was made.
Meanwhile, Murdoch left the reins cast over Zephyr’s saddle and rubbed the steed’s ears. “Ensure your own welfare, my old friend,” he said to the horse and Isabella saw again his protectiveness toward those beneath his hand. “I would not tether you, lest the earth shift again.”
Murdoch drew his sword then and strode toward the dark opening. Isabella was fast behind him. He bounced slightly on his feet, testing the soil. “It seems to be strong enough, for the moment. Perhaps it has settled to a new balance.” He glanced her way and his eyes began to twinkle before she could even argue her case. “I had thought to bid you farewell, my Isabella, but I see I would only waste my breath in insisting that you remain behind.”
“You would,” she said with resolve and he laughed.
Murdoch offered his hand to her. Isabella slipped her hand into his grip and they stepped forward together into the darkness.
Surely it was her imagination that she heard a man whisper softly behind her. She could make no sense of his single word, even though she glanced back at the sound.
“Three,” was all he said.
Murdoch apparently did not hear the utterance, for he continued onward, showing a confidence Isabella wanted to echo. “We should have brought a candle,” he murmured as the shadows closed around them.
She looked up at Murdoch. “They have gone down, toward the sea.”
“Of course,” he muttered, then winked as if to reassure her. They stepped forward as one, feeling their way step by step into the cold embrace of Ravensmuir’s shattered caverns. The darkness closed around them and Isabella shivered. She felt her way along the wall, waiting for her eyes to adjust. Murdoch was just ahead of her.
“There was a grand staircase,” she whispered, then Murdoch pulled her to a halt.
“First step,” he said. She moved beside him, testing the path ahead with her foot. He was right.
“The steps were broad and even, carved from the rock.”
“They might not be so any longer.” With that warning, Murdoch began to descend the stairs, his other hand trailing along the wall. Just as Isabella recalled, the air became steadily cooler and more damp, and she caught her breath when she smelled the sea. She could hear the waves, too, and was relieved that the passageway might be clear the entire way.
She would have told Murdoch as much, but he froze suddenly and his grip tightened on her hand.
Isabella halted, then she heard the song of the spriggans.
“Kings and villains, rogues and thanes; all have come to thieve again. They take the spoils not theirs to claim, they steal and snatch, then leave again. Gold and silver, gems and jewels, do these intruders think us fools?”
Who were they worried about?
“There!” Murdoch whispered, pointing to a glimmer of gold just ahead. Isabella could see the silhouettes of the spriggans as they hauled their prizes through a crack in the rubble. By the time they reached the place, the spriggans had disappeared but a glow came through the crack. Murdoch pulled away some loose stones, they exchanged a glance, and Isabella slipped through the gap. When Murdoch had climbed through the space and stood behind her, she pointed at a golden glow far ahead.
Murdoch gripped her hand and she knew he was thinking of other Fae portals, like the one of the Elphine Queen and the one at the cottage. The smith’s knife could not have been driven into the stone underfoot. Why had the smith taken it back? He must have believed they no longer needed it.
“Do not eat,” Murdoch murmured.
“Do not drink,” Isabella agreed. She was well aware that his hand was cold, colder than it should have been, and she would not think of losing him in this place.
“And never look into their eyes,” they said in unison, then crossed the threshold as one. They halted together, astonished by the sight before them.
They had stepped into a cavern filled with riches. It was not a room of small dimensions, and it was stacked with gold and silver, gems and relics. There were half a dozen oil lanterns lit, each one in itself a prize of workmanship. The flames flickered only a little, the golden light making the contents of the chamber look more splendid. Spriggans swarmed over the piles like rats, muttering as they counted and rearranged in what seemed to be an ongoing inventory.
One spriggan faced them both, its feet braced against the ground and its eyes narrowed.
“Darg?” Isabella asked and the spriggan spat at the floor before them with an animosity unexpected.
“Thieves,” the spriggan charged.
“I am no thief,” Murdoch insisted, his tone reasonable “I come to regain the prize my father bought fairly.” He indicated the treasure. “His coin is probably also here.”
Darg glared at him. “Save your greed for another’s hoard, for this gold will grace but one queen’s board. We tithe again, against our will. Tithe to a second, we never will. Cede to mortals? That will take, a force far greater than you can make.”
Darg was a small but sinewy creature, undoubtedly much stronger than it appeared. Isabella guessed that it would not fight fairly, and wondered how they might outwit it.
Murdoch seemed intent upon keeping it talking.
“To whom do you tithe? The Elphine Queen?”
“The very same! For she is regent to all we name. Her claim, though we did try, cannot any longer be denied.” The spriggan spat again on the ground. “The other comes with greed in his eye. He will not have a share, and so say I.”
Murdoch eased closer to the spriggan, leaving Isabella behind him. He crouched down before the ugly creature, his manner amiable. “Who is the other?”
“Finvarra from across the sea! King of the Daoine Sidhe so is he. He plays chess with the Elphine Queen, but we see the truth of his scheme. ’Tis gold he wants, our gold for sure – we hide it deep so ’tis secure.”
“I seek only my father’s relic, rightfully his own. What use have you for the hand of the Magdalene?”
“It was ours once and is ours again,” Darg snarled. “And woe to any who make a claim. Gathered for years, counted and stacked, our hoard ensures we know no lack.”
“How so?” he asked. “You cannot eat it, and I will wager that you do not sell it.”
He glanced around, as if acquainting himself with their accomplishment. Isabella was impressed by his composure. So far as she could see, the only way out was the way they had entered. “It is an impressive collection. Did you move all of this here, just this past night?”
“Collected for years and hidden away, gold ensures the light of day. We give at will, or snatch it back, the better to see we have no lack.”
“So, you might grant a token from this hoard to one who fed you, for example?”
“It has happened before, I will not deny, but do not think you can seize a prize.” The spriggan darted backward, scrambling toward the pile of treasure. Murdoch and Isabella exchanged a glance of trepidation, then Isabella had an idea.
“Elizabeth always noted that you had a fondness for ale,” she cried after the spriggan, noting how its eyes brightened.
It halted and turned. “Have you ale?”
“Not with us,” Isabella said, but Murdoch spoke before she could continue.
“I left it with my horse, in the bailey above.” He smiled. “I would trade you ale for the hand of the Magdalene.”
The spriggan fidgeted with indecision, glancing between its fellows and the mortal pair. Suddenly it scampered toward Murdoch then whispered. “How much have you?”
“Only enough for one,” Murdoch admitted, as if regretful.
The spriggan hissed. “I do like a sip of ale. It warms the blood, makes one feel hale. It prompts merriment and joy, then sadness when ’tis alloyed.”
It thought, bit its lip, then raced toward the glittering hoard. It returned a moment later, waving the reliquary that Isabella recalled from years before. The reliquary for the bones of the Magdalene’s hand was almost as long as the spriggan was tall, and it was clearly heavy, for Darg struggled with the burden of it.
Murdoch reached out to take it, but the spriggan snatched it out of his reach. “Nay, nay, not near so quick! Bring first the ale, to prove no trick.” It pointed at Isabella. “She stays, you go to fetch it true, and hasten lest I not wait for you.”
“Surrender to me the chalice and platter from Kinfairlie’s chapel, as well,” Isabella added. “For that was not yours to take.”
“A fine price you barter for your ale, I hope it does fulfill your tale.” The spriggan kept a grip on the reliquary, calling to another spriggan in some kind of gibberish. The other hauled out a platter and chalice wrought of silver. “I but show the tithe we will pay,” Darg cried to the other spriggan, clearly lying about its intent. “The better to keep evil at bay.” The other spriggan did not appear to be convinced by this, but at Darg’s snarl, it disappeared again, leaving the chalice and platter on the floor.
Darg turned a bright gaze upon Murdoch, its
expectation clear. Murdoch turned and gave Isabella an intent look. He pivoted as if to leave, but she knew he had a scheme. Darg chuckled to itself in satisfaction, clearly pleased by the prospect of ale in its belly.
“Isabella!” a man roared from the passageway behind them. Murdoch froze and looked at Isabella.
“Alexander!” she whispered.
“More mortals!” Darg hissed and began to drag the reliquary back toward the golden hoard. Isabella and Murdoch leapt after the spriggan in unison. Murdoch seized the slippery little creature, grimacing as it bit and fought. Isabella grabbed the reliquary and held it tightly.
Darg let loose a yell of astonishing volume. “Thieves!” it cried, and swarms of spriggans erupted from the pile of treasure, teeth bared, then raced toward them.
“Run!” Murdoch cried, giving Isabella a push, and she did exactly that. She glanced back when she had one foot on the crevasse that led back to the passageway and saw that he had drawn his sword against dozens of attacking spriggans.
She had to get the relic out of the caverns. Although she wanted to aid him, she knew she had to ensure that his quest was fulfilled. Perhaps she could entrust Alexander with the relic, then come back to help Murdoch. She squirmed through the narrow space, sheltering the relic with her cloak, that thought bright in her mind.
“My tithe,” the Elphine Queen said, much to Isabella’s astonishment. She reached for the relic, but Isabella held it more tightly to her chest.
“You have had sufficient tithe from Murdoch!”
The Elphine Queen smiled. “It is for me to say what is sufficient.” She did not snatch at the relic, to Isabella’s relief, but stepped back and gestured to her surroundings.
Isabella was shocked. She stared at the frozen figures in the passageway, unable to believe that her family had given chase. Alexander stood there, along with Rhys and Elizabeth. Stewart was there, along with Gavin and another young boy. They were all motionless, as if struck to stone.
But they blinked and watched, evidence that they were aware of what occurred around them.
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