by Willa Blair
“I think we have just seen why she remained safe and untouched in the invader’s camp,” Toran answered, as bemused as his companion.
****
“The wall’s to keep the coneys out, or the long-eared pests would eat all that Senga grows, and there’d be naught for her stews and potions,” Elspie prattled on as she opened the gate and gestured for Aileana to precede her. “Though why they hop their way into a busy keep like this is more than I ken. The main portion of grains and root vegetables and such we get from the fields in the glens, and from the villages hereabouts, o’course. We’ve a goodly store to carry through the winter in the cellars beneath the keep. But Senga likes her herbs, and this garden is a pleasant spot in the morning.”
Indeed it was, Aileana thought as she noted with pleasure the neat beds of greens and herbs. If Senga tended this, she cared for more than greens and herbs; she had a bit of art in her as well. Aileana turned to take it all in, observing how the morning sun filled the generous space with light. Blooming vines climbed the rocky walls, some of the leaves turning russet or gold from the growing chill of the recent nights.
“It’s lovely,” Aileana said at last. “I can see why you like it so.”
Elspie led her to a bench in the sun, and went through a doorway into what must be the kitchen, judging by the mouthwatering scents that wafted out of the door. The clatter of pots and pans rang over the sound of women’s voices. Aileana couldn’t make out what the women discussed, so she ignored the chatter and studied the layout of the garden. The rock walls were positioned to soak up the warmth of the low sunlight that illuminated them this time of year and extend the growing season. Savory herbs for the pot were kept separate from medicinal plants, which could be dangerous. Now that she’d had a chance to study the arrangement, she realized that flowers bordered the savory beds, while a low, thorny shrub bordered the medicinal beds, clearly signaling “keep away.” Even the dullest kitchen lackey would be able to tell where to pick and what to avoid.
No such measures had been required in her mother’s garden since only she and Aileana had harvested there. But in a large keep such as this, there might be several who helped in the kitchens, and children might enter to play or pick flowers. Aileana admired Senga’s forethought.
Aileana had only a few minutes to herself to enjoy the sunshine and the scent of growing things before Elspie returned carrying a large basket and leading one of the tiniest women Aileana had ever seen.
“Good day, lady,” the sprite greeted her, then dismissed Elspie with a regal nod and continued with barely a breath. “I’m Senga. I’m told ye ken something of healing and herb lore.”
Elspie set the basket on the ground beside Senga, nodded to Aileana and left them alone.
Senga’s eyes were a bright, sharp blue, set in a small face that was crowned by a wealth of white hair braided and wrapped around her head. Despite her tiny size, the spirit that shone from her eyes was formidable. Aileana had the sense that Senga weighed and measured her fully in one steely glance.
Aileana took a breath, then answered her. “Some, yes. Though I’m told your methods are different than mine.”
“Aye?” The sharp blue gaze pinned her in place and the sense of being tested increased.
“What I know, I learned from my mother,” Aileana spoke carefully, not sure what Senga was looking for and reluctant to be found lacking in some way. “But what you have here is more than she used, and more than I recognize. I would learn from you, if you’re willing.”
“Then ye’ll be welcome to my garden when ye like,” the old healer said with a nod that Aileana took for some sort of acceptance. “And I’ll be pleased to show ye what’s here whilst I pick some herbs for tonight’s supper. There’s nothing our wee laird likes better than my stew.”
Aliana laughed at that. “Your wee laird?” she asked, incredulous that anyone, especially one as tiny as Senga, could describe the huge warrior as “wee.”
“Aye, I’ve called him that since he was a bairn,” Senga told her, then turned to a flower-bordered bed, knelt and began picking fresh herbs. “Toran’s been hanging about my kitchen since he got old enough to crawl and clever enough to snatch a treat from my tables. A wee pest he was, but even as a bairn, he had a charm that no one could resist.”
“I see that hasn’t changed,” Aileana answered, with only a little irony as the memory of her body’s hunger for him suddenly swamped her.
It was Senga’s turn to laugh. “Nay, lass, little has changed. He’s laird now, and a good one. He’s kept his charm. And he still visits my kitchen for a nibble whenever he pleases.” Senga picked up the basket and gestured to Aileana. “Now walk with me.”
“You’re the cook and the healer?” Aileana asked.
“The healer, aye. My herbal is just beyond the kitchen, and I keep an eye on the cooking to ensure the health of the clan, but others do the work with the pots and pans.”
Aileana could see why. She couldn’t imagine someone of Senga’s size lifting a pot full of stew. It would be nearly as big as she was.
Aileana listened with interest to Senga’s tales of life in the Aerie and of its laird as they wandered the garden, filling the basket with herbs and greens. She impressed Aileana with her fierce loyalty to the man she’d known first in swaddling. Her tales of his childish antics did nothing to dilute her evident pride in the laird he’d become, but Aileana wondered how he’d won the hearts of his people.
Loyalty could be bought with rewards, or forced with fear, as she had seen Colbridge do countless times. Was it fair to judge Toran by the measures she’d learned from that tyrant? She’d had little experience with any other form of leadership save the coercion Colbridge used to keep his men under his control. Was a clan run like an army? Or more like the village she’d grown up in?
She’d noticed a sense of community among the few people of Clan Lathan whom she’d met that she missed when she allowed herself to think about the home she’d lost. She wasn’t sure if it was real or a perception born of her own wishes. But it wouldn’t exist if their laird mistreated them in any way.
“Does it not worry you, that the invaders could arrive soon?” she asked Senga as they finished the tour of the garden and stopped outside the door into the kitchen and the nearby herbal. The mood in the Aerie seemed calm and purposeful, despite the probability of a siege.
“Nay, lass. The Aerie’s ne’re been taken, no’ by force, no’ by siege.”
“Never?” That might be so, Aileana thought, but it was about to change. Colbridge had defeated every force he’d met. The Aerie might take longer to subdue than a village, but Aileana knew he would persist until he prevailed—or died.
“Nay, lass, never,” Senga responded with an undeniable air of certainty. “Ye’re safe within its walls.”
Aileana hoped that she was right.
A young woman with hair the color of acorns appeared in the doorway. “Senga,” she said, her gaze moving from the tiny healer to Aileana and quickly back again. “Brea is asking for ye.”
“She’ll want what I’ve gathered,” Senga answered then turned to Aileana. “This is Coira,” she said, then turned back to the woman standing in the kitchen door. “And Coira, this is Aileana, a healer and guest of our laird.”
Aileana nodded, but Coira kept her face still, her eyes watchful. Her clothes were too rich for her to be one of the kitchen staff, and Aileana wondered why she ran errands for the cook. Or was she just curious about the new guest in the Aerie?
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Aileana finally said to break the silence as Senga frowned at the other woman.
Coira nodded. “I see Toran’s eye for beauty did not desert him while he was gone from us.”
“Coira!” Senga’s tone brooked no argument, but the woman turned her back on them, went into the kitchen and out of sight.
“Who…” was all Aileana got out before Senga interrupted her.
“Pay her no mind,” she advised. “She fancies
herself the lady of the clan.” She eyed Aileana and the corner of her mouth lifted just slightly. “She’ll be disappointed in that ambition, I think.”
Aileana frowned. What did Senga mean? Did Toran already have a woman, or did Coira merely hope to become his?
Senga returned to her kitchen, leaving Aileana sitting on a stone bench to enjoy the scents of the garden and absorb what she’d just learned. She was dimly aware of the voices outside its vine-covered walls, along with the clang of swords and the whoosh and thud of arrows finding their marks in the straw targets set up in the outer bailey. She could see men walking the ramparts on the outer wall, and realized that one of them was Toran. His well-muscled form was unmistakable, larger and more attractive to her eye than the other warriors nearby. She saw him turn from whatever had his attention outside the keep to speak to his companion, and his strong profile and the way his dark hair fell to his big shoulders captivated her. His gaze swept the interior of the bailey and paused on her for a moment before he continued his conversation with the man beside him. He’d noticed her, then looked away. He seemed focused on what his companion said to him, and his lack of regard for her made Aileana’s heart drop into her belly. Had she been wrong about him, wrong about the attraction she felt growing between them?
Aileana sighed and settled herself more fully on the bench, listening to the sounds around her, inhaling the rich aroma of roasting meat and baking bread from the kitchen, feeling the warmth of the sun on her face. She forced herself to keep her gaze off of Toran, focusing instead on the soothing greens of the herbs and the bright colors of the flowers within the low garden walls. She listened to Senga’s laughter and the answer of a deeper male voice from the kitchen. Someone must be begging a taste, Aileana thought with a sad smile.
****
“Damn, they’ve seen us.”
Toran didn’t bother to answer Jamie. He kicked his horse into motion and turned away from the trail that led up the tor to the main gate of the Aerie. It was pure bad luck to run into one of Colbridge’s advance scouting parties so close to that path. Toran had been sending out scouts for days who had managed to avoid the invader’s men Just his luck to meet up with them. Six in this patrol, mounted and well-armed, and they’d nearly run right into them. He and Jamie were too far from the gate to reach its safety and avoid a fight, or for help to reach them from the Aerie. They would have to lose the six in the forest.
After a moment, he realized his friend hadn’t followed. Toran looked back just in time to see Jamie reach up to pull the baldric containing his longsword over his shoulder. As he did so, an arrow buried itself in the flesh under his arm, nearly knocking him off his horse. It happened so fast that Toran didn’t have time to think. He spurred his mount back to his partner and grabbed his arm to reseat him. Then he took the reins that lay slack in Jamie’s hand and, pulling the injured man’s mount behind him, kicked his horse into a gallop. He had to trust Jamie to hang on any way he could despite the pain he must be in.
The movement seemed to jar his partner out of the shock of his injury enough to take back control of his horse. Jamie grabbed the reins one-handed and pulled them from Toran’s grip, swearing continuously as they rode headlong through the forest.
“What are ye doin’?” he gasped. “The Aerie’s back that way.”
Toran didn’t like the catch he heard in his friend’s voice, but they didn’t have a choice. As long as Jamie could ride, they would ride. He was still on his horse, so the injury might not be as bad as it looked. At least, not yet. But he doubted that Jamie would be able to fight. They had to run.
“We’ll never make the gate before they catch us.” Toran threw the comment over his shoulder as he ducked a low branch. “We’ve got to lose them in the woods.”
They had found the main body of Colbridge’s army and needed to get that information back to the clan, but they’d have to lose their pursuers to do it. With only a few horses left, the invaders’ wagons were overloaded and most of the men were on foot. That meant they were a day away from reaching the glen below the Aerie’s tor, maybe longer. But they were clearly coming.
Toran was determined that at least one of them make it inside the Aerie’s walls with the news. But there were too many in the scouting party for them to be able to stand and fight, even if Jamie could swing a sword, which he couldn’t manage in his condition. And Toran knew he couldn’t take them all by himself.
“Head for the burn,” Jamie called weakly. “Thick trees…they’ll get separated. Maybe we’ll lose a few…of them.”
If he’d had time for it, Toran would have wept at the way Jamie sounded. His normally strong, deep voice crackled and he wheezed between words.
The pounding horses’ hooves behind them rumbled like thunder in the stillness of the thick forest. Shouted oaths echoed among the trees, making their pursuers sound like a much larger group than they actually were and sending chills up Toran’s spine. Despite being in unfamiliar territory and having to duck tree branches as they rode, at least a few of the pursuers were drawing closer.
Toran guided Jamie down a ravine that led to the burn and halted. Jamie pulled up beside him. The turnoff was well hidden behind a thick stand of trees. If they’d gotten through without breaking any branches, chances were good that their pursuers would miss it and keep going deeper into the forest. They waited, breathing hard but as silently as they could, until they heard the group of riders pass. Toran turned to Jamie with a grin that immediately fled his face when he saw his friend’s condition. Blood soaked the side of Jamie’s leathers, and his face had taken on an ashen cast that did not bode well at all. Swallowing, Toran pointed down to the burn.
“Can ye ride on?” he whispered.
“Aye,” Jamie gasped through his labored breathing.
There was no time to waste. Toran led them into the shallow burn and followed it around the base of the tor. Jamie slumped over his horse’s neck, dripping blood onto his mount and into the water. Toran hoped that he could stay in the saddle long enough to reach the postern.
Toran had ordered the Aerie’s scouts to avoid using the postern unless the situation was dire. Even by his rules, this qualified. So he kept them to the burn to hide Jamie’s blood trail, only leaving it when they reached the approach near the cavern entrance. They went carefully—quietly and slowly. If any pursuers found them here, there would be no hope of getting inside the cavern. They could not betray its location. So they waited, and he listened and watched.
After an eternity during which Jamie’s breathing became so shallow that he could no longer hear it, Toran moved them forward through the trees. He pulled up near the entrance and grabbed his friend’s reins as his horse nearly kept going right past him. Jamie slumped in his seat, white and barely conscious. Toran had to get help, now. He dismounted and led the horses inside to the iron gate that barred their way. He quickly located the hidden key and used it, then relocked the gate behind them. The horses followed him quietly out of the passage and into the big cave.
The injured man kept trying to spur his horse into motion, clearly unaware of where he was.
“No, Jamie, ’tis all right. We’re inside. Let’s get ye down from there.”
As soon as Toran touched him, Jamie collapsed into his arms. Toran lowered him carefully to the floor of the cavern, shaken by his friend’s cold, pasty skin. Blood covered his clothes and dripped down his saddle. It had taken too long to get here. In protecting the postern, Toran feared that he was close to costing Jamie his life. He could not waste any more of Jamie’s time.
“Old friend, I’ve got to leave ye for a few minutes and get Senga. Ye’re safe here. Rest a moment, and I’ll be right back with help.”
When Jamie didn’t respond, Toran gripped his uninjured shoulder briefly, then ran for the stairs.
Chapter Eight
Toran reached the top of the stairs out of breath and gasping, but still at a run. “Senga!” The kitchen hallway was empty. He kept yelling her name as
he burst into her herbal. Also empty. Gasping and swearing, he ran for the Great Hall, still calling for the old healer.
As others took up the cry, Toran saw Senga’s tiny form being hurried across the Hall toward him. Someone with legs longer than hers finally picked her up and carried her. The growing rumble of voices barely penetrated his fear and urgency. He pushed through the crowd gathering around him and saw Senga’s lowered brow and firece stare as she assessed him. He knew blood soaked his clothing, but help was making its way toward him. That was all that mattered.
“Hurry! Jamie’s wounded. Bad. Postern,” he urged, and pushed the man carrying tiny Senga toward the hallway stairs. He turned to follow, but Donal stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
“Are ye well?” Donal asked. The sharp scent of Jamie’s blood on his clothes filled Toran’s nose.
“Winded from the stairs,” Toran answered shortly, grabbing Donal’s arm and following Senga and the others who filed swiftly out of the Great Hall. “Jamie’s blood. None of mine. Jamie’s still below—too heavy to carry up.” Toran’s breathing was still ragged, but he knew Donal heard the worry in his tone.
Donal’s frown turned fierce as they started side-by-side down the stairs through the caves. “How bad?”
“As bad as it gets.”
It was far, too far, this climb down through the tor while Toran fretted. Once they arrived in the entry cavern, Toran pushed through the crowd that had gathered and encircled Jamie’s pale, still form where he lay on the stone floor in a growing pool of his own blood. Blood soaked his clothes and a foamy trickle bubbled from his mouth. Toran’s mouth went dry when he saw the arrow shaft protruding from where the shoulder cap met the mail shirt Jamie wore under his plaid.
Donal gasped and turned to Toran, grabbing his arm. “How did this happen?” he demanded.
Toran shook his head. “We were on the trail back to the main gate,” he said in a low voice as they watched Senga examine Jamie. “A group of riders spotted us. Jamie was reaching for his sword—” Toran cursed softly for a moment, then continued. “He had the devil’s own luck. There wasna a thing to do but run for it. We lost them in a thick patch of trees. Then we followed the burn to hide the blood trail in the water, and I got him back here as soon as I was sure we weren’t followed.”
