Now he had nothing at all.
He groaned under his breath. Connor shifted across from him.
“My lord. The hour grows late—”
He fell silent at the look Duncan gave when he lifted his head.
“Not drunk enough. Not yet.” His head dropped again to the table.
Connor shifted as Henna called from the doorway, announcing a visitor. He nudged his lord.
“Duncan. Someone comes!”
At the tone in his friend’s voice, Duncan rose unsteadily to his feet. He saw her in the doorway, long black curls and pale blue eyes.
Cait.
No, not Cait. Edana. At last.
“I’ve been waiting for you.” He meant to sound angry, frustrated, furious, all the things that he felt as he waited for her. But he didn’t. He sounded weak and forlorn. Hopeless. Defeated. “Where is she, Edana? Please tell me. Please tell me you know.”
“I don’t know.”
“Is she alive?”
“She lives. I feel it. I see her. She’s in Scotland. She isn’t terribly far.”
“My father took her. He...he...harmed her.”
“I told you she was in danger,” the priestess said. She looked so much like Cait, it seared him to his soul. He shook his head.
“I never thought...my own father...my own wife...” He looked at her reproachfully. “I’ve waited for you to come. What took you so long? I’m losing hope. I’ve searched the woods every day. Dead winter comes, and she...she must come home. She is with child.”
Edana sighed. “It was you I felt calling, not her. It is you who drew me here.”
“But she is your daughter. Can’t you go into a trance or something? Divine where she is? Isn’t that within your powers?”
“Sometimes. My powers are a gift of the Goddess. Sometimes She gives the sight. Sometimes She does not.”
Henna came forward with a tray of food and drink for the priestess, but she waved it away.
“No. I will fast. You will help me, woman. You are the healer here?”
Henna nodded.
“Come. Show me the highest, most open vantage point in the keep. I will meditate and fast until dawn. Tell your men to be ready. We will not find her by skulking about here.”
* * * * *
Cait hunched over outside the cottage. She rocked slowly, trailing her fingers through the dirt, remembering him. She couldn’t think of his name. It was too horribly painful to think it, to remember his hands, his warmth, his lips. His gentleness. She kept his name inside her heart, like a treasure, locked away.
Locked away, just as she was.
She’d tried to escape. So many times she’d started walking, started running directionless through the woods. She wasn’t locked away behind any door, any iron bars or windows. She was locked behind a wilderness of endless, impenetrable woods. And so she waited, but everyday she hoped a little less.
Soon enough, she knew, the old earl would understand about the baby. She didn’t know what he would do. She never knew what he would do, only that it would be wicked and violent and painful. It would be impossible to endure if he harmed the baby. Even though it wasn’t Duncan’s, she loved it all the same. It was the only thing that comforted her as the lonely weeks went by. As long as the baby was inside her, he couldn’t harm it. Unless he killed her, which he threatened to do all the time. When I grow tired of you, Princess, I’ll throw you from the tower. So you had best not grow tiresome. You had best do as I say.
And she did do everything he demanded of her. She learned that abject obeisance could sometimes stave off his ire. She groveled, she cowered, she begged and cringed and shrank before him. When he demanded it, she bowed and served his men. More and more he passed her off to them, drowning himself in drink while they used her one after the other. He was growing tired of her. Perhaps the end would come soon.
She had no way of knowing, and thinking about it only troubled her already unquiet mind. She couldn’t think as she used to. Her wits were going hazy. It was a blessing. She lived moment by moment, tried to live outside the atrocities he visited on her. And most of all, for her sanity, she didn’t think of him.
Only once a day, at dusk, while the earl drank with his henchmen, she allowed herself to look up at the sky and think that, perhaps, he too looked up and thought of her. She thought hard, every night. I’m here, Duncan. Wherever here is.
Please come.
* * * * *
“Come!” shrilled Edana. “We are close. I can feel it.”
For a week now, at dusk, she had led Duncan and his men deeper and deeper into the woods outside Dunain, through trees and brush so thick that the horses balked and progress was slow. But Edana pressed forward urgently, as if Caitlyn’s voice herself was calling aloud.
“Stay together!” he barked to his men. He believed that Edana was leading them to Cait, but he also knew his father would not be alone. Duncan had brought an army one hundred strong to bring her home.
Edana paused, closing her eyes. The army of men fell silent as the grave, so silent one could hear the whispering of the wind in the trees. Even the horses seemed to hold their breath, not shifting, not exhaling. For a long moment, she meditated, then opened her eyes and turned to the west.
“She is near.” Duncan’s hair stood on end as it always did when she spoke in that voice. “She is near. She lives. She waits. She calls to you,” she finished in a whisper edged with tears.
He looked at the steadfast woman, her back straight, her chin jutting forward stubbornly even as he heard the tremor in her voice. He’d never even considered her own grief. Cait was her daughter, as well as his wife. Of course this must be difficult for her as well. He thought sometimes that Edana felt and saw things she didn’t tell him. He saw her lips go white, saw her eyes close in pain, but he was too afraid to ask...
“Tonight?” he asked instead, his voice hopeful. “Tonight?” he asked again when she didn’t respond.
“I don’t know.” She waited, shaking her head. “No, I’ve lost her. Tomorrow,” she said with determination. “Tomorrow at dusk, we will search again.”
Duncan’s shoulders slumped in the fading twilight. Another day. It was excruciating when he, too, could feel they were near.
“She is west, you believe? Shall we go west?”
“The light is fading.”
“I cannot wait,” he said through gritted teeth. “God help me, I cannot wait. These nights, these days...I cannot bear them—”
“I hear her only at dusk!” snapped Edana. “I am doing all I can! I do not wish to wander around blind and end up farther away! We wait until dusk tomorrow, to be sure of our direction!”
Duncan sighed and walked away from her. He would walk all night. They could stay where they were, but for himself, he would walk. He would walk until he tripped over the godforsaken hiding place where she was. He could hear the men dismounting, preparing to camp for the night. He turned around, then stood still as stone, looked and listened. There was no fire, no sound, no light that he could see, and yet he knew. She was so near. He could feel her, he could sense her. He could smell her in the air.
He looked up at the darkening sky, then down at his feet. His eyes widened in astonishment and he fell to his knees.
His name was written there in the dirt, his own name in quickly scrawled letters.
DUNCAN
It was his name written in her hand. Her letters, right there. The message was hidden in the shadow of thick brush.
And beside his name, making his blood pound in his veins, an arrow pointed the way.
* * * * *
They uncovered the enclave just before dawn. It was only a small holding, a cottage, some outbuildings, the ruins of a keep. From outside, it looked sleepy and peaceful. A few of his father’s men slept in the open air of the overgrown courtyard. No one kept watch. Edana led Duncan to a small storehouse behind the cottage. It was locked, but Duncan had it open with a silent swipe of his weapon. He motioned Ed
ana to wait but she would not be deterred. They entered the small room together. It was dark, dank. Freezing.
She was there.
She stirred on the pallet on the ground, waking only slightly. She turned away, hunched in a miserable ball.
“She thinks you are him,” whispered Edana.
Duncan crossed the small distance in a heartbeat and took her in his arms. She resisted with a soft sob.
“Cait, it is me. Caitlyn, my dearest...”
She turned to him, her eyes dull with disbelief. She reached out to touch him mournfully.
“It is a dream. A dream only...”
“It is no dream, Cait. I promise. It’s me.”
She reached to put her cool palm to his cheek, then pulled it away as if he burned her.
“It’s you,” she gasped, throwing her arms around his neck.
He embraced her, letting go when he felt her wince. Her clothes were ragged, dirty; her skin pale and bruised. The rank blanket she pulled around her was woefully inadequate and thin for the bitter cold. Her lovely black curls hung lank and tangled, but she was still the most beautiful sight he’d ever beheld in his life.
He beckoned Edana forward.
“Caitlyn, I swore to myself I would never, ever leave you again. But there is something I must take care of that no lady should be a party to. Stay here with Edana. Your mother. She will watch over you until I return.”
Cait’s fingers twisted in his vest. “I want to come with you.”
“You cannot. It’s not safe. I will not be long.”
He untwisted her fingers gently and kissed them, and looked deep into her eyes. “You will be safe here until I return for you. And I swear to you, I will return.” Before he could fall to the pleading in her eyes, he turned and strode from the shed. He beckoned his men around him. Lord Douglas’s men would soon be stirring.
“Put every one of these blackguards to the sword,” Duncan said. “But leave my father to me.”
* * * * *
Cait shivered violently. He was there, but now gone again. He had only been a dream after all. It was surely a dream, for now the strange woman who looked exactly like her was approaching as the morning half-light that filtered through the cracks in the wall. She remembered her from past dreams, in her woad dress with her long black hair. The Cait-woman was pulling off her cloak and wrapping it around her. For a dream, the cloak felt amazingly warm and real. But Duncan was gone, and she would soon awaken, and this strange older version of herself was whispering in her ear. Perhaps she had died. Could it be? She didn’t remember dying. She must only be dreaming. But it had seemed so real. He had felt so real, she had let herself believe this time.
“It was no dream,” the woman said. “You are awake. He will return.”
Cait looked at her, shaking her head. She would not raise her hopes again, only to have them dashed.
“You may pinch me if you wish, and see if you hurt me,” said the woman with a smile. “If it will make you believe.”
Cait only looked at her. She would not talk to a specter. She would not interact with a dream. She was losing her mind, but she was not that far gone yet. The woman studied her, looking thoughtfully into her eyes.
“’Tis true, is it not? You favor me more than a little. Your father said as much.”
“You knew my father?” she asked before she could stop herself. “My father is a king. He would help me. Can he help me, do you think?”
“Your husband is here. You need no help now. But yes, the king would have helped you if he had known you needed help. He is not so gifted as we are, to know when help is needed. Or perhaps he is only too preoccupied with worldly concerns.”
“You know the king?”
Edana smiled again. “Child, I am your mother, as much as he is your sire. We know one another. There is no other way.”
“You are my mother?” Cait was terribly confused. She had no mother.
“I am. I’m afraid I’ve been an absent, neglectful mother to you. I thought it was better that way, but perhaps I was wrong. You must forgive me if you can find it in your heart. I would like us to be friends.”
Cait fell silent again, thinking, untangling. She was safe. It was not a dream. Duncan was returning soon. She could hear the shouts of Lord Douglas’s men, hear the clanging metal and the violence outside.
“It will be all right,” the woman assured her. “They will prevail.”
They would prevail. She had a mother. This woman was her mother. At last the tears came. Edana took her in her arms and rocked her gently.
“When will he return? When?” Cait sobbed.
“Hush now. Soon.”
* * * * *
The raid was over in minutes. His father’s men died violently, like the beasts they were. A few cowards scattered, outlawed, into the woods. Duncan’s men found Lord Douglas passed out over his cup at the table. They trussed him hand and foot and brought him before their lord. Even in his dire position, the old earl sneered at him.
“Are you sure you want her back, Duncan? I believe you may find her changed. She is not quite so pure as I found her, but a great lot more obedient and demure.”
Duncan didn’t flinch, just kept cleaning the blood from his weapon. His men ranged around at an appropriate distance, ready to help if needed. But they knew this was a confrontation Duncan needed to settle on his own.
“Changed?” Duncan echoed quietly. “She is the same. The same sweet woman she was when her mother brought her to this world. I think it is you that has changed.”
“Me? Yes, I have changed. I’ve become much more miserable since I met your harlot of a wife, whiling away my time here at this deserted keep with only her skinny, worthless body to pass the time—”
“I never knew you to love a woman,” Duncan interrupted. “Too high and mighty, too manly to stoop so low. All that nonsense.”
Lord Douglas laughed wildly. “I have never met a woman worthy of love.”
“Until you met my wife.”
“Disgusting, petty creatures, all of them. Vain and inconstant and only good for one thing.”
“Good for one thing? I’ve heard that for a lifetime, but I don’t think that’s what you really believe. I think you destroy whatever is innocent and good because you are so vile and worthless in your own eyes and the eyes of everyone who knows you—”
“You are an idiot, Duncan,” said Douglas, forcing a smile. “You will never understand.”
“Did you rape my own mother, you blackhearted devil?”
“Perhaps I did. What difference does it make? She was only a woman, like all the other useless women on earth. Just one more sluttish female to beleaguer the male species.”
His voice fell silent as Duncan braced his sword a hair’s breadth from his neck. “Not one more word.”
“Will you kill your own father? You haven’t the nerve. You’ve always been soft, too emotional and womanish for your own good. You call yourself a soldier, but you’re no better than the weak, brainless slut who bore you.”
“You will not compel me to kill you quickly, old man. I know what you’re about. No. I think you will be made to suffer just as she did. A few cuts, a certain organ of yours mutilated beyond repair. Some blood to draw the wolves from the woods.” He looked around thoughtfully, considering. “I’ll have you staked to the front of the cottage. That would be best. I hope you survive for days, and I pray you die sensible with the teeth of wild animals at your throat.” He lowered his sword, signaling his men. “But I cannot stay to enjoy your demise. I must take Cait and our babe where they will be safe.”
“Our babe? The babe is mine, Duncan. She told me.”
Duncan laughed, shaking his head. “Caitlyn is ignorant in these things. She always has been, and perhaps always will be. But I tell you, the babe is mine. And while it unfortunately has your blood as well, I hope Cait’s goodness will finally overcome that taint.”
He turned his back on his father. He’d seen enough of his e
vil face to last a lifetime. He would not have the murder of his father on his soul, devil though he was. But he would see that it happened just the same. He would leave it to his men and their own outraged fury, and take Caitlyn far away from here, and pray she could forgive him for the unspeakable evil he’d brought to her life.
“He is yours,” he said to his men, who hovered impatiently to wreak revenge on behalf of their lady. “Take your time about it, and don’t be too kind. As for me and my wife, we return to Inverness at once. It’s possible his screams for mercy could disturb her,” he added as an afterthought. “Wait just a while until we are away.”
* * * * *
Cait leaned back against Duncan, listening to his steady heartbeat. His arms were wrapped tightly around her and his hands rested on her as he held to the reins. He seemed unwilling to let her stray even an inch from his body. When she shifted, his arms tightened to pull her closer again. It took until nightfall to reach the keep on horseback. Cait slept through most of the journey. At the keep she was handed over to Henna, who fussed and keened in her ear.
“Oh, child, how can you ever forgive me?” she wailed, wringing her hands.
Cait was so tired she barely heard her, but Henna’s hands were gentle and soothing, and for that she was grateful. The women took her torn clothes and shoes and burned them at Duncan’s command. They bathed her in warm, scented water for over an hour, washing her hair, tending her smarting cuts and bruises. Henna and Edana put warm scented salve on the worst ones and covered them with clean linen bandages. When she was nearly asleep, they laid her in bed. Duncan’s bed. She was not too sleepy to realize that. He paced and hovered, coming in and out of her line of sight as the women examined her.
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