by Willa Blair
As suddenly as he’d attacked, Colbridge loosed Ranald and turned for the entry. “Bring me the guard captains!” he shouted, slapping the tent flap aside. With that, he staggered out of the tent and into the firelit night.
It was Ranald’s turn to sag against the table. He still lived while Colbridge shouted for the guards. He knew he’d had a narrow escape. He’d be wisest to stay out of Colbridge’s way until he’d slaked his temper in the hapless guards’ blood and cooled off. But Ranald had to do something to find Aileana, to discover who had taken her and where, anything it took. He hadn’t spent years training as a warrior to cower in this tent now. It was time to resume fighting. And if he could not get her back, perhaps he could join her, alive or dead.
Ranald followed Colbridge into the night.
****
The day dawned bright and cloudless. Aileana took it as a good omen that the mists made no defense against the cheery sunshine, and that blue skies replaced the gray damp of yesterday’s dawn in Colbridge’s camp.
Colbridge’s camp. Only yesterday and already it seemed a lifetime ago. She wondered how Ranald fared and wished he’d been taken, too, not left behind to deal with Colbridge’s recovery when they discovered that she had disappeared with all the prisoners. He could be more comfortable here, as she was now, than he could living in a rough camp. And surely he could continue to assist her, or find employment among the many trades required to run a keep such as this; one where he could make a good life for himself.
Aileana luxuriated in the deep softness of the feather bed, so different from the pallet she was used to. Blankets and linen sheeting kept the autumn chill from her skin. Embers glowed in the banked-down fireplace, awaiting someone’s attention to stir them to life. As she drowsed, she pictured the fire flaring up, and recalled the heat that had blazed last night in Toran’s eyes as he touched her. He wanted her. That was plain, though he’d kept his caresses slow and gentle, his voice low and soft. She’d been nearly helpless against her own body’s yearnings, and yet he had not taken advantage of her, had not tried to force her to do what they both wanted.
And she wanted him, though she should not. She had finally found her Voice and forced him to leave her alone, though the sudden absence of his touch had brought tears to her eyes. He possessed the will to defend against her talent, perhaps to overwhelm her, but he had submitted to her. This time. Would he do so again? Or would he become more and more immune to her will? As strongly as the attraction pulsed between them, she dared not enter into that contest. Her talent had kept her safe and untouched these two years. She could not risk being less than inviolable. Not for any man, no matter how attractive, powerful or wealthy.
Once taken, no longer untouched, but still possessing her Talents, she would be vulnerable to the attentions of any man. That is what she risked with Toran. For when he tired of her, or when his clan forced him to marry someone suitable to be the wife of the laird, she would lose all of her protections—his, and the fiction that had carried her safe this far.
Irritated now, Aileana threw back the covers and quit the bed. Grabbing the poker, she stirred the embers of the fire and threw on some kindling to encourage a blaze to match her own frustration. A glorious day, comfort she had not known for years, if ever, and she could not let herself enjoy it for fretting over the laird and his intentions. It was not to be borne! She would protect herself as she always had, she vowed, and would not allow such thoughts to spoil the day.
As the fire started to come back to life, a soft knock sounded and the door to her chamber swung open. Elspie trundled in, green dress over one arm, and a tray of oat bread and cheese propped on the opposite hip.
Aileana caught a glimpse of a boy passing by the door as it swung closed, but her guard of the evening before was not visible.
“Ye’ll be wanting to ready yerself,” Elspie said as she put the tray on the small table so she could shake out the dress and hold it up for Aileana to don. “There’s a bright mornin’ without to be enjoyed, and Senga would be pleased to show ye the herb garden, now that ye’ll take her place as healer.”
The cloth sliding over Aileana’s head muffled her voice, but she managed to squeak, “Take her place?” as the dress slipped onto her shoulders. “What do you mean, ‘take her place’?” she demanded when she could see Elspie again.
“Aye,” Elspie continued, waving Aileana to the chair and handing her the breakfast tray. “Old Senga is long past her prime. She’s had no help these last two winters. The talk in the Hall is that ye’re to become the clan’s new healer.”
“I’m not a prisoner, then?”
“Prisoner? What nonsense is that?” Elspie waved a hand to encompass the room and its comfortable furnishings. “Does this look like the dungeon, then, lass?”
“There was a guard on my door last night.”
“Oh? No’ a guard, I’m sure. ’Tis likely the laird wanted someone nearby if ye had need of aught during the night, since this keep is new to ye.”
“How kind of him,” Aileana replied drolly around a bite of bread. The frown Elspie gave her told Aileana the note of sarcasm in her voice had not been missed.
Aileana still had her doubts. Call it whatever Elspie wished, there had been a guard outside her room last night. But this morning, Elspie was her only company. Elspie didn’t look much like a jailer. Aileana thought she could outrun the older woman with one leg broken, and without the use of her Voice. And what of Elspie’s news? Aileana had only arrived last night. How could anyone know about her, much less be discussing her fate in the Great Hall? Anyway, she doubted that her future would be decided by common gossip. Talk in the hall was one thing, but... “What of your laird’s wishes?”
“Ah. Ach, now, our Toran knows ’tis in the best interests of the clan, and himself, to keep Senga content.”
“Why?”
“Would ye want the master of herb lore angry with ye?” Elspie asked with a smirk. “’Twould be impossible to eat or drink anythin’, were it so.”
Aileana picked up a piece of cheese, sniffed, and nibbled carefully on a corner, suddenly fervent in the hope that Senga was looking forward to having help. Elspie laughed.
“Dinna fash yerself, lass.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” Aileana replied, then shrugged, put the whole piece in her mouth and chewed. “You aren’t being put forward as her successor. What if she’s not ready to be replaced?”
“Clan Lathan is an old clan, small now, but we’ve been here for many a year. The healer is well respected in the clan and always will be. Besides, Senga had an apprentice before, but a McDinnan lad caught the lass’s eye and suddenly she left.”
“And there’s no one else to apprentice to the healer? No child?”
“There’s none with the wit or the patience to take on the learnin’ that Senga demands.”
“So I arrive, ready-made a healer, is that it?”
“Aye, lass,” Elspie smiled with satisfaction.
“What if my ways are not hers?” Aileana stood, setting aside the tray covered now only by crumbs, and began to pace, fearful again of this new situation she found herself in. What if Senga found her lacking in some way? And told Toran? What would she do then? She had no other training, no other skills, except as a healer.
So, that was why Toran had brought her to the Aerie. But if Senga did not accept her, what would Toran do? Send her back to Colbridge’s camp?
As Aileana paced, Elspie backed out of her way, toward the door, concern plain on her face. “What if I have no wish to remain in your Aerie?” Aileana continued, standing still as the thought occurred to her. “What then?”
“That ye’ll have to discuss with the laird,” Elspie answered, a frown knitting her eyebrows together. “It’ll be up to him what’s to be done wi’ ye.”
Aileana decided she did not want to know what Elspie meant by that. For now, as to whether Toran considered her prisoner or guest, it would seem this morning she was to be accorded the
privileges of a guest, and the freedom of the keep, at least so far as the herb garden. But everyone would be looking at her, wherever she went. She needed to pull herself together and be dignified, or at least calm. She could not look flustered or fearful, no matter what happened today.
But to replace the clan’s healer, when she’d just arrived yesterday? That remained to be seen.
****
Colbridge stalked through the remains of his camp, snarling at anyone who dared cross his path. Few tents remained standing. Most had already been packed for travel into the few wagons they had horses left to pull, as were supplies and stores. Those signs of progress did little to ease his frustration. His prize prisoner stolen, along with his Healer. In a camp of nearly two hundred armed men, it should not have been possible. And they hadn’t just walked out on their own. But where had they gone? Farther north or west into the mountains?
The sentries on duty at the time had been whipped and now suffered the care of Ranald and the lesser healers. Hurts that Aliana could have righted quickly would linger, diminishing Colbridge’s fighting force. But an example had to be made. The sentries had been careless of their duty. By God, he’d taught them to care. It was a lesson they’d not soon forget, and if they did, there would be plenty of scars on their backs to remind them.
His own hurts were mended, though the damnable weakness persisted. Curse the woman, stolen away just when he needed her. His slow recovery was delaying the advance.
He approached the area where the prisoners had been held, noting the leathers still tied round the trees, the only sign this area had once held men, men who now roamed free in the forest to rebuild a fighting force and attack his rear when he moved out. Many of the leathers showed teeth marks and ragged edges. They hadn’t been cut; they’d been chewed apart. Fresh fury crested, and he cut the strips from the trees and tossed them into a pile. By God, he should use them to string those guards up. What were they doing while the prisoners gnawed through their bindings to gain their freedom? Whipping had been too good for them. Perhaps a more permanent example would have an even greater impact on their vigilance. The guard captain, for instance. Or the lot of them.
Then Colbridge spotted one of his men approaching with a prisoner whose hands were bound behind his back. Good. Let him try to get to those leathers and chew them off.
“This man has news you should hear,” the guard told him and stepped back.
Colbridge, temper still frothing, snarled, “Well? Speak up, man!”
“Aye, sir,” the man started, then hesitated before continuing. “The other captives, they won’t stay nearby. They’ll likely follow the Lathan to the Aerie.”
“What do you mean they’ll follow the Lathan to the aerie? What aerie? And who is the Lathan?”
“The Lathan. Clan Lathan,” the man answered, clearly confused. “The clan nearest to us. Their stronghold, the Aerie, isna close but it’s less than a day’s ride west—farther into the mountains.”
“Why go there if it’s so far?”
“The other clans are even farther away,” the bound man replied. “The ones on foot will follow the men on horseback, though it may take them two more days.”
“And when they arrive, will the Lathan receive them?”
“Oh, aye, certainly, since he likely ordered them freed.”
“Ordered them freed? How could he do that when he didn’t know they were captured?”
“What? How could he no’ ken it? He sat right here among them. When his men came to retrieve him, he likely ordered the others freed to cover his own escape.”
Fear widened the bound man’s eyes when he saw Colbridge’s fist clench.
Colbridge’s rage threatened to choke him. “He was here?”
Clearly hesitant, the bound man continued. “Aye, tied up with the other prisoners. I saw him there when I they took me to the healers to bandage this cut on my arm. I wasna sure till I saw his torc.”
“Torc? Torc! The man I took prisoner wore a torc. He wasn’t a MacAnalen laird?”
“Nay, no’ one of ours. The MacAnalen wears no torc.”
“He was the laird of the nearest fortress?”
“Oh, aye. The Aerie’s a fine fortress. ’Tis set on a high tor. They say it has never been taken.”
“Never been taken? What do you mean?”
“If they don’t want ye in, ye don’t get in. And they can last forever in there.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because when he escaped, he left me behind. The Lathan laird sat among us alone. He should have sent for his men to help us fight ye off, but instead he watched us get slaughtered, and walked away without me when it was all over.”
Colbridge could barely credit what he heard. His fury raged as close to madness as it ever had. A strange laird had been in his hands. Now he was gone. Aileana with him. And instead of being able to turn south before winter moved in, he would have to get her from a castle reputed to be unassailable. They could be delayed here for weeks more—months, if they had to mount a siege. Colbridge shuddered.
“I had the Lathan here, and no one told me? You did not tell me!” Colbridge drew his sword. Both men facing him stepped back, but it was too late to run. In a flash Colbridge separated the prisoner’s head from his shoulders.
His guard stepped back even farther, face white, hands out, not daring to run, but terrified to stand too close. “I did not know. Don’t kill me, too.”
It did him no good. Colbridge’s wrath demanded blood and his sword flashed in the sun. Others who had started to carefully approach, not knowing what caused the commotion, stopped short, gaping at the sudden bloodshed. But they ran when he threw his head back and howled his fury to the sky.
Chapter Seven
Toran stood on the ramparts with Donal, watching as a small group of riders arrayed themselves at the edge of the glen below the Aerie, along the opposite trees. “They’ve found us, and quickly, too. Did they follow? Or did some poor MacAnalen captive point the way, I wonder?”
“It doesna matter,” Donal retorted. “That lot are here, and they’ll bring along the rest, soon enough.”
“Their leader still lives or they wouldna come. So that’s the answer to that. He willna give up.”
“We saw nary a siege engine in that camp. They canna do much against us without at least one,” Donal remarked thoughtfully and nodded toward the forest. “But there are plenty of trees to cut down. Given the time, they could build them, or use the logs as battering rams against our gates.” He gestured toward the main gate into the Aerie and continued, “We’ll need to post more archers there, but the approach up the ridge is easy enough to defend.” He turned back toward the invaders’ scouting party. “I dinna see many supply wagons in that camp, either. From the look of them, they’ve been on the march a long time.”
“More than two years, according to the Healer,” Toran answered, and wondered how the dark-haired lass had survived in the midst of the rough camp. She thought she’d been safe there. Toran wondered how long that would have remained true. “A long time to be away from hearth and home,” he muttered, turning his back on the scene outside the Aerie to regard the activity in the bailey, below.
“If there’s truth in what the MacAnalens told ye while ye enjoyed their company,” Donal said with a smirk, and Toran groaned in exasperation. Donal would not let him forget that, ever. “Then,” Donal continued, “most have no home to return to. If Colbridge didn’t break their clans, the Sassenach already had in the fighting at the borders. They’re mostly lost men, with none to look to except that toady bastard leading them around our countryside. And they’ve nowhere to go save squatting at our door.” Toran nearly grinned at Donal’s aggrieved tone.
“They’ll leave soon enough.”
“Aye, one way or the other,” Donal growled.
With Colbridge’s patrol in sight of the main approach to the Aerie, scouts that Toran had sent out would have to stay in the trees as long as possibl
e and then make a fast break for the main gate, or take the longer, hidden way around the tor and the postern gate in the lower caverns. Toran allowed himself a moment of amusement, imagining the complaints as they climbed the many stairs and steep passageways up into the Aerie.
“We’ll need to move some of the horses to the lower stable,” he told Donal. “If Colbridge’s archers get in range of the main gate, the postern will be our best way in and out.”
“Aye. We’ll move them after dark.”
“I want three men to go back to Colbridge’s camp tonight. Someone told Colbridge where we are. I suspect we missed freeing some unlucky MacAnalen or one was recaptured and tortured for that information. If our scouts find anyone else held in there, get them into the hills with their kin where they can be cared for.”
“Aye. ’Twill be done.”
“Quietly. We don’t need any more Lathan captives in that camp.”
“Aye, Lathan,” Donal said with a straight face for once.
Toran’s attention focused on the bailey as Aileana come out from the main hall, following Elspie. Her appearance stilled the activity in the yard. Toran sensed no animosity among his folk, merely curiosity, as people stopped what they were doing to watch her go by, offer a greeting or just nod and stare. It was more than the fact that she was a new face, a stranger among the clan. He’d seen plenty of visitors noted and ignored. Did her status as a healer fascinate them? Nay, this was different.
So, she gained noticed from all, but then, Toran mused, the Healer was hard to ignore. Even in this place and with these people who were strange to her and staring at her, she maintained an air of calm certainty that only added to her beauty. She acknowledged everyone she passed, but did not pause to return their greetings. Her thick, dark braid swung on her back as she crossed the bailey to the wall of Senga’s herb garden and passed through the gate that Elspie opened. For a moment, the watchful stillness held, then the noise and movement resumed. Toran blew out the breath he had not realized he was holding.
“That’s quite an effect she has on the folk,” Donal muttered beside him. “As if she wears invisible armor, or royal raiment; all must regard her, but no one may approach.”
